Poems (Rice)/With a Wreath

by Maria Theresa Rice

WITH A WREATH, ON THE DEATH OF A VALUED FRIEND, P. W.

COULD I weave a wreath of fadeless flowers
 Of amaranthine hue,
Could I cull sweet flowers from Eden's bowers
 All wet with fragrant dew,
I would bring them now to deck his bier,
 I'd crown him for the grave;
Who thought to him that death was near,
 The generous, the brave?

How suddenly the dreadful summons came,
 I tremble while I think;
But then our loss is his eternal gain
 And we are on the brink.
Alas! alas! I may not finish this,
 This chaplet of flowers,
Before a message from the realms of bliss
 May bear me to its bowers.

This is a simple offering sure,
 But what more can I bring?
It is a tribute of affection pure,
 An humble offering.
How calm he sleeps! life's struggles all are o'er;
 No farewell word was said;
And few I know will be lamented more;
 He sleeps—he is not dead.