What blossom have you brought to-day,
Beside my pillow, dear, to lay?
Come, let me see my prize.
A velvet pansy, large and fair,
With petals yellow as your hair,
And purple as your eyes.
I think I know the very spot.
Where, bordered with forget-me-not,
This lovely blossom grew;
We knew that pansy bed of old,
A sweet, swift story there was told,
Between black eyes and blue.
It seems but yesterday we stood,
Each unto each God's greatest good,
Beneath the morning sky!
We stood as lovers stand, to part,
(But hand from hand, not heart from heart),
With lingering good-bye.
Upon your snow-white dress you wore
One blossom, plucked an hour before.
While still the dew was wet:
A purple pansy, fair as this,
I took it, with your first shy kiss;
I have that blossom yet.
We thought our fate was hard that day.
But, darling, we have learned to say,
"Whatever is, is best."
That far-off parting which is o'er.
Foretold one longer, on before.
Awaiting which we rest.
We wait as friends and lovers do.
Each reading true heart through and through,
Until that parting come.
Then if you speak I shall not hear,
I shall not feel your presence near.
Nor answer. Death is dumb.
You may bring pansies, too, that day.
To spread above the senseless clay.
But none so sweet as this;
And never one like that dear flower,
You gave me in love's dawning hour.
With your shy clinging kiss.
I may not give you courage strong.
And help and counsel all life long,
As once I hoped to do.
But, love, be fearless, faithful, brave;
The pansies on my quiet grave
May bring heart's-ease for you.
