ANEMONE. 
135 
To dwell upon, yet found it not? 
Or here to strip thy beauteous vest, 
And lay thee down like death to rest, 
Hath been thy lot? 
Welcome! for drear the gale 
Has been to me, 
And all the flow’rets wither’d be 
Young life had rear’d in sun and shade, 
They spring no more, though they do fade 
And die like thee. 
Yet though this be the doom 
Of earthly flower, 
And earthly hopes may feel its power, 
Still hopes are left that mock the tomb, 
And nurture here the strength to bloom 
In heavenly bower. 
