SONG OF THE FLOWER-SPIRITS. 
113 
Beautiful spirit, why dost thou sigh 1 
Sad thoughts float about me, like clouds on the sky, 
Of the false vows that may on these blossoms be 
sworn, 
Of the Rose that will wither, and leave but the thorn: 
Of hopes that may live after Love is long dead, 
Like the stem left behind when the flower is shed. 
And that is the cause why I sigh—why I sigh— 
To think that the heart must be broken, to die. 
Sister, sister, what hast thou found 
Half hidden amid the green leaves on the ground 1 
They are the dim Violets, daughters of Spring, 
Deeper dyed than the blue of the butterfly’s wing ; 
Yet modest as Love in the bud of the Rose, 
When the green can no longer its blushes enclose : 
All the perfumes I’ve tried in the buds that I 
wreathe, 
Yet found none half so sweet as the one that they 
breathe. 
Beautiful spirit, why dost thou weep 1 
For the death and decay that come swifter than 
sleep; 
For the Rose which my blushes at morn dyed with 
red, 
That by night, in the full bloom of beauty, was dead, 
I 
