









POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Pillowed upon my fostering breast, 
Serenely sinking into rest ! 
The grave must be thy cradle now ; 
The wild flowers o’er thy breast shall grow, 
While still my heart, all full of thee, 
In widowed solitude shall be. 
No taint of earth, no thought of sin, 
Fer dwelt thy stainless breast within ; 
And God hath laid thee down to sleep, 
Like a pure pearl below the deep. 
Yea ! from mine arms thy soul hath flown 
Above, and found the heavenly throne, 
To join that blest angelic ring, 
And aye around the altar sing. 
I thought, when years had rolled away, 
That thou wouldst be my age’s stay ; 
And often have I dreamt to see 
The boy—the youth—the man, in thee 
But thou hast past! for ever gone, 
To leave me childless and alone, 
Like Rachel weeping tear on tear, 
And looking not for comfort here! 
