Immortal Flowers

Of old, a man who died
Had, in his pride,
Woman and steed and slave
Heaped at his grave;
Given this sudden end
Their souls to send,
Still serving, whitherward
Their lord had fared.

Grown wiser, we, to-day,
A happier way
Find for our love and grief
And death's relief:
Flowers their fragrance strew
Where he must go,
Gladden the narrow gate
Whereat we wait.

And there be those of us
Who! amorous
Of life and hope, can see
How gleefully
He, lonely, greets beyond
These flowers so fond,
Even as our common doom
Saddens their bloom.