76 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
rHE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS 
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 ! 
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! too deep a love, and fain, 
They would win to earth again. 
I 
Spread them not before the eyes, 
Closing fast on summer skies ! 
Woo thou not the spirit back, 
From its lone and viewless track, 
With the bright things which have birth 
Wide o’er all the colour’d earth! 
With the violet’s breath would rise 
Thoughts too sad for her who dies; 
From the lily’s pearl-cup shed, 
Dreams too sweet would haunt her bed; 
Dreams of youth—of spring-time eves— 
Music—beauty—all she leaves! 
