There’s a charm in its fragrance bewitchingly sweet—
A something that binds with a magical spell;
E’en silence, thro’ this, to the heart can repeat
The message that’s sent in its purple fringed cell.
’Tis an odorous breath, from the heavenly heights—
An angel hand, beckoning to the bloom scented fields,
Where the soul in its freedom may taste the delights
That the garden of Paradise yields.
Like childhood’s sweet dreams of the holy and true,
That float thro’ Life’s dusk in the ether of Thought,
Or morn’s rosy blush, melting into the blue,
With tint of the beryl and amethyst caught.
’Tis an exquisite messenger, given the heart,
That winsomely speaks to the spirit, alone,
And whatever sentiment sent, will impart—
Will tell it so sweetly, in language its own.
When souls must needs pass thro’ Grief’s wordless abyss,
Then heart unto heart, through it, uttereth speech—
The sympathy, seeking expression through this,
Is told with a tenderness words never reach.
If you’ve aught that’s too sacred for words to express,
Too tender to breathe in a wish or a hope,
’Twill be fittingly draped in the delicate dress,
And borne in the perfume of HELIOTROPE.