The Dying Flower

PASSENGER.

"DROOP not, poor flower! — there's hope for thee:

The Spring again will breathe and burn,
And glory robe the kingly tree,

Whose life is in the sun's return;
And once again its buds will chime

Their peal of jOy from viewless bells,
Though all the long dark Winter-time

They mourned within their dreary cells."

FLOWER.

"Alas! no kingly tree am I,

No marvel of a thousand years:
I cannot dream a Winter by,

And wake with song when Spring appears.
At best my life is kin to Death;

My little all of Being flows
From Summer's kiss, from Summer's breath,

And sleeps in Summer's grave of snows."

PASSENGER.

"Yet, grieve not! Summer may depart,
And Beauty seek a brighter home,

But, thou, thou bearest in thy heart
The germ of many a life to come.

Mayest lightly reck of Autumn-storms;

Whate'er thy individual doom,
Thine essence, blent with other forms,

Will still shine out in radiant bloom!"

FLOWEE.

"Yes! — moons will wane, and bluer skies

Breathe blessing forth for flower and tree;
I know that while the Unit dies,

The Myriad live immortally:
But shall my soul survive in them?

Shall I be all I was before?
Vain dream! I wither, soul and stem,

I die, and know my place no more!

"The sun may lavish life on them;

His light, iu Summer morns and eves,
May colour every dewy gem

That sparkles on their tender leaves;
But this will not avail the Dead:

The glory of his wondrous face
Who now rains lustre on my head,

Can only mock my burial place!

"And woe, to me, fond foolish one,

To tempt an all-consuming ray!
To think a flower could love a Sun,

Nor feel her soul dissolve away!
Oil, could I be what once I was,

How should I shun his fatal beam!
Wrapt in myself, my life should pass

But as a still, dark, painless dream!

"But, vainly in my bitterness

I speak the language of despair:
In life, in death, I still must bless

The sun, the light, the cradling air!
Mine early love to them I gave.

And, now that yon bright orb on high
Illumines but a wider grave,

For them I breathe my final sigh!

"How often soared my soul aloft

In balmy bliss too deep to speak,
"When Zephyr came and kissed with soft,

Sweet incense-breath my blushing cheek!
When beauteous bees and butterflies

Flew round me in the summer beam,
Or when some virgin's glorious eyes

Bent o'er me like a dazzling dream!

"Ah, yes! I know myself a birth

Of that All-wise, All-mighty Love
Which made the flower to bloom on earth,

And sun and stars to burn above;
And if, like them, I fade and fail,

If I but share the common doom,
Let no lament of mine bewail

My dark descent to Hades' gloom!.

"Farewell, thou Lamp of this green globe!

Thy light is on — my dying face,
Thy glory tints — my faded robe,

And clasps me in — a death-embrace!

Farewell, thou balsam-dropping Spring!

Farewell, ye skies that beam and weep!
TJnhoping and unmurmuring,

I bow my head and sink to sleep!"