TIME AND THE FLOWERS. 
169 
beheld them, tell that a flower had changed : for as 
they looked on the morning of battle, and on the 
evening of the same day, when the sun sank over a 
field crimson with blood, so do they look now ; the 
keen eye of Time, who discerneth the decay of all 
things, seeth change in the flowers. 
The fond, warm heart of lovely woman ceaseth 
to beat—the liquid ruby no longer danceth through 
the streaked violets of her blue veins—the opening 
roses of her sweet and parted lips are closed for 
ever—the silver melody of her harp-toned voice is 
heard no more—the heaven of her eyes, the love¬ 
liest mirror in which the face of man was ever 
imaged, is darkened—and she, the most beautiful 
flower that was ever formed by the hand of Heaven, 
sleeps unconsciously below ; while the flowers bloom 
and fade a thousand times above her grave, yet 
their beauty cheereth not, neither doth their per¬ 
fume gladden, the angel of earth that slumbereth 
beneath. Over the blossoms above Time hath no 
power : but the sweet bud which lieth buried deep 
down, belongeth for a season unto him and Death, 
and to us can never again be restored. And what 
careth Time for other flowers ? he carrieth away 
those which are twined around our hearts,—he 
teareth the bleeding tendrils asunder: the vast 
cities and huge temples are not his only prey, for 
from the beginning he became a partner with Death. 
