THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS.
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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 coloured 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!
Hush! 'tis thou that dreaming art,
Calmer is her gentle heart.
Yes! o'er fountain, vale, and grove,
Leaf and flower, hath gushed her love;
But that passion, deep and true,
Knows not of a last adieu.
