16 DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
Her place is now by another’s side — 
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride! 
Bring flowers, pale flowers, o’er the bier to shed, 
A crown for the brow of the early dead! 
Bor this through its leaves hath the white-rose 
burst, 
For this in the woods was the violet nursed. 
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, 
They are love's last gift — bring ye flowers, pale 
flowers! 
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in 
prayer, 
They are nature’s offering, their place is there 1 
They speak of hope to the fainting heart, 
With a voice of promise they come and part, 
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours, 
They break forth in glory — bring flowers, bright 
flowers! 
