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. |