  [Written for Decoration Day.] Jonquil and daffodil mine, Lift me your golden-crowned heads! Cockscomb and peony fine, Lend me your lordliest reds! Tying my posy up here, I must have flowers at will; They are for Grandfather dear, There where he sleeps on the hill. Grandfather dear was a soldier, Gallant and handsome and young. Flowers, I'll show you his picture, Over the shelf where 'tis hung. Yes, and his sword hangs beneath it, The sword that he waved as he fell, Fighting on Winchester Field,— The field he was holding so well. So when the year's at the sweetest, Mother and Grandmother dear And I, we go gathering flowers, So sweet as they're blossoming here. And when Grandfather looks down from heaven, As he looks, and looks lovingly still, He smiles as he sees his own flowers, All shining and sweet on the hill. |
|
