  She had been in the fields at play Through golden summer hours, And brought with her, at close of day, A cluster of wild flowers. And when she slept, we went to see The little one at rest, Our own sweet flower, and there, ah, me! The flowers lay on her breast. Her little brow was smooth and white, Her merry eyes were closed, She smiled, as though some heavenly sprite Whispered as she reposed. She looked so pure, so white, so fair Below the ominous flowers, She seemed a blossom plucked from care To bloom in heavenly bowers. And oh, the whelming flood of pain, The sudden sense of dearth! We kissed her o’er and o’er again, And brought her back to earth. |
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