An Easter Flower
I.
The flower that she gave to me
Has withered now and died—
But yet with fond fidelity
Its faded leaves abide.
II.
The petals that so fragrant then
She wore upon her breast—
Still clinging to the lifeless stem,
With miser care possessed.
III.
As when in sweetest purity
It shed its perfume rare,
A symbol dear ’twill ever be
Of one divinely fair!
IV.
Plucked by the cruel hand of Death
In beauty’s youthful bloom—
She perished with his chilling breath,
And withered in the tomb.
V.
But I will cherish ever thus
The token that she gave
When sun-lit skies were over us,
Unclouded by the grave!