The sign of compassion you gave
will not lie upon the yonder grave,
for on your pages our eyes set
to leave a bouquet of violets;
Others upon you too may shower
and SHE will bring you a flower.
Alas! what blossom shall she bring,
and in hearts of others may spring?
The gardens on earth once ran wild
and SHE trimmed them as a child;
Those pallid ones and tall thin stalks
and the wild vine among the walks.
About her garden's queens and kings
have grown the most elegant things,
yet one there is of an ancient race,
springing in the old familiar place;
This is the one for you she will seek
the one with scarlet hue and violet beak,
one which bears your compassions name
and children of earth your fame will claim. |
