The Flowers

Out in the field to where I go,
Midst blade o' grass fair flowers grow.
The flowers ; sweet, which here I see

How precious are you all to me.
As had I met a 'beauteous maid
My heart throbs with the joy conveyed,
Plant flowers fair, — when once I die, —
Above the grave wherein I lie.

Beside the flowers I take my seat
And then with friendly chat I greet.

E'en love's confession make to them.

Do you love me? I ask of them
They answer not. but I can tell
They understand me very well.

Plant flowers fair, — when once I die, —

Above the grave wherein I lie.

Who knows? Does not the flower's scent
Its very language represent?

We grasp it not. it doth not reach
Our souls as does sweet human speech;
.Man's soul the sweet perfume enjoys,
lint does not hear the spirit voice.

Plant flowers fair. — when once I die. —
Above the grave wherein I lie.

Aye. aye! this scent is speech, e'en more!

It is a song, a song of spirit lore.
When I cast off this earthly clay
And in the grave am laid away.

I'll no more scent that sweet perfume
I'll hear the song within my tomb!

Plant flowers fair, — when once I die —
Above the grave wherein I lie.
This scent, the flowers' melody.
At one time be my lullaby.

The gentle tune of which shall bring
Sweet sleep to me each coming spring.

From spring to spring these songs shall thril

My soul, my sleep with bright dreams fill.
Plant flowers fair, — when once I die. —
Above the grave wherein I lie.