Ah, why should the brief bliss of life's little day
Grow cold in this spot as the spiritless clay,
And thought be at work with the long-buried hours,
And tears be bedewing these fresh-smiling flowers!
Ah, wherefore the memory of dear ones deemed dead
Should bow thee, as winds bow the tall willow's head!
Beside you they walk while you weep, and but pass
From your sight as the shade o'er the dark wavy grass.
The cypress may mourn with her evergreen tears,
And, like the blue hyacinth, change not with years;
Yea, flowers of feeling may blossom above,
To yield earth the fragrance of goodness and love;
So one heart is left me—she breathes in my ear,
"I'm living to bless thee; for this are we here."
And when this sweet pledge to my lone heart was given,
Earth held but this joy, or this happiness heaven!
Here the rock and the sea and the tall waving pine
Enchant deep the senses,—subduing, sublime;
Yet stronger than these is the spell that hath power
To sweep o'er the heartstrings in memory's hour.
Of the past 'tis the talisman, when we three met,
When the star of our friendship arose not to set;
And pure as its rising, and bright as the star,
Be its course through our heavens, whether near or afar.
Lynn, Mass., August 24, 1865.