I bedewed with tears those spring-time flowers,
For they brought to my mind the happy hours
When I roamed through the forests' and meadows green
With a heart all alive to each beautiful scene.
I loved the flowers when my step was light,
And my cheek with the glow of health was bright,
Through forest and meadows, o'er plain and o'er hill
I may wander no more—but I love them still!
I love the flowers, and I love them best
When they first peep out from earth's snow-wreathed breast;
For they tell, amid sorrow, and death, and gloom,
Of a spring that shall visit the depths of the tomb!
And oh! could I roam through Fortune's bowers,
I would twine a wreath of the sweetest flowers,
Whose beauty and fragrance should ne'er depart—
But brighten thy home and gladden thy heart!
But the flowers of earth are fragile and fair,—
And the young brow must fade and be furrowed with care;
But hast thou not heard of a wonderful clime
That ne'er has been marred by the footsteps of Time?
There in gardens of bliss the weary repose;
There the pale, sickly cheek wears the hue of the rose;
There death never comes,—Oh, amid its bright bowers,
May we twine for each other a garland of flowers!