  The nosegay Matilda twined for me, And smilingly offer’d entreatingly, I push’d away, o’erpower’d completely By the sight of the flowers that blossom’d so sweetly. At the scent of the flowers, my tears fast flow,— I feel that in all this fair world below, Its beauty, sunlight, joy, love are bereft me, And nought but its bitter tears are left me. They tell me that I no longer share A part in life and its circle fair, That I belong to death’s kingdom dreary, Yes, I, a corpse unburied and weary. How happy was I when erst I saw The dance of rats at the Opera! But now I hear the odious scuffling Of churchyard rats and grave-moles shuffling. The scent of the flowers recalls again A perfect ballet, a joyous train Of recollections perfumed and glowing, From the hidden depths of the past o’erflowing, To sound of cornet and castanet, In spangled dresses (full short, I regret),— Yet all their toying, each laugh, each titter, Can only render my thoughts more bitter. Away with the flowers! O, how I abhor The scent that maliciously tells once more Of days long vanish’d and hours of gladness— I weep at the thought with speechless sadness. |
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