Dedication of a Poem from the Sanskrit

Sweet, on the daisies of your English grave
I lay this little wreath of Indian flowers,
Fragrant for me because the scent they have
Breathes of the memory of our wedded hours;

For others scentless; and for you, in heaven,
Too pale and faded, dear dead wife! to wear,
Save that they mean--what makes all fault forgiven--
That he who brings them lays his heart, too, there.

April 9, 1865.