

FLOWERS. 
rHE DYING GI FLOWERS 
assy dells, 
honey-cells, 
A 

Bear them not from gra 
Where wild bees have 
Not from where sweet water-sout a 
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 eer 
Oh! too deep a love, and fain 
tf ? ? 
They would win to earth again. 

Spread them not before the eyes, 
Closing fast on summer skies ! 
Woo thou not the spirit bac 
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! 


