LILY. 
211 
Should I not love my flowers ? 
I love my Lilies tall, 
My Marigold with constant eyes, 
Each flower that blows, each flower that dies 
To Me, I love them all. 
I gather to a heavenly bower 
My Roses fair and sweet ; 
I hide within my breast the flower 
That grows beside my feet.” 
UNE PENSEE. 
TOM HOOD. 
“ There’s Pansies : that’s for thoughts.”— Shakspeare. 
Gay lilies on the virgin breast 
Of her who dieth young; 
And o’er the warrior gone to rest 
Let laurel wreaths be flung; 
But strew ye purple pansies when the old man’s knell is 
rung. 
Fair types those lily flowers are 
Of her for whom ye weep ; 
Whom earnest prayer and loving care 
Could not among us keep ; 
But strew ye purple pansies when the old man falls 
asleep! 
Well fitting for the warrior dead 
The laurels he has won— 
Proof of the brave life he has led, 
The dangers he has run ; 
But sttew ye purple pansies when the old man’s war is 
done ! 
