  Gay was her garden as some gorgeous fabric Weft on an Orient loom, Star-set upon the sward quaint, old-time blossoms Wrought broidery of bloom. Verbenas, dahlias, asters, scarlet cannas Like torches flaming tall; (Methought the fair, old face, enframed in silver, The sweetest flower of all!) And one rare rose she watched each year with hoping Till the dear eyes grew dim— But ere a single blossom burst in beauty God took her home to Him. Yet when the Spring next woke the earth to laughter And boon of blossom gave, We laid them on her grave. ***** And so, meseems, the buds we woo most fondly Nor light nor perfume shed; And Love's gold-hearted rose and Hope's star-flower Oft bloom when we are dead. |
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