A JESSAMINE FLOWER.
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The years glided on, death came to our home— Floated in on the Jessamine's breath;Its pale blossoms lay in sweet baby hands That were folded forever in death.
The same starry blooms lightly clung in the curls That fell o'er my darling's dead brow,And my tears are like rain on the jessamine leaves, Whenever I look on them now.
Frail, beautiful messenger, fresh from the spot So dear to my earlier years;You have opened the door of a temple to-night That gives you baptism in tears.
