58 THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS. 
And bind, it Mother ! on my breast 
When I am laid in lonely rest. 
—Mrs. Hkmans. 
THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS. 
“ T desire, as I look on these, the ornaments and 
children of Earth, to know whether, indeed, such 
things I shall see no more ? whether they have no 
likeness, no archetype in the world in which my 
future home is to be cast? or whether they have 
their images above, only wrought in a more won¬ 
drous and delightful mould .' 5 —Conversations with 
an Ambitious Student in ill health. 
Bear them not from grassy dells, 
Where wild bees have honey-cells, 
Not from where sweet water-sounds 
Thrill the greenwood to its bounds: 
Not to waste their scented breath 
On the silent room of Death 1 
Kindred to the breeze they are, 
And the glow-worm’s emerald star, 
And the bird, whose song is free, 
And the many-whispering tree : 
Oh 1 too deep a love, and fain. 
They would win to earth again. 
