Where are now the flowers we tended?

Withered, broken, branch and stem; Where are now the hopes we cherished?

Scattered to the winds with them.

For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones!

Nursed in hope and reared in love, Looking fondly ever upward To the clear blue heaven above:

Smiling on the sun that cheered us, Rising lightly from the rain, Never folding up your freshness Save to give it forth again:

Never shaken, save by accents From a tongue that was not free, As the modest blossom trembles At the wooing of the bee.

O! 'tis sad to lie and reckon All the days of faded youth, All the vows that we believed in, All the words we spoke in truth.

Severed--were it severed only By an idle thought of strife, Such as time might knit together; Not the broken chord of life!

O my heart! that once so truly Kept another's time and tune, Heart, that kindled in the spring-tide, Look around thee in the noon.

Where are they who gave the impulse To thy earliest thought and flow?

Look around the ruined garden-- All are withered, dropped, or low!

Seek the birth-place of the lily, Dearer to the boyish dream Than the golden cups of Eden, Floating on its slumbrous stream;

Never more shalt thou behold her-- She, the n.o.blest, fairest, best: She that rose in fullest beauty, Like a queen, above the rest.

Only still I keep her image As a thought that cannot die; He who raised the shade of Helen Had no greater power than I.

O! I fling my spirit backward, And I pa.s.s o'er years of pain; All I loved is rising round me, All the lost returns again.

Blow, for ever blow, ye breezes, Warmly as ye did before!

Bloom again, ye happy gardens, With the radiant tints of yore!

Warble out in spray and thicket, All ye choristers unseen; Let the leafy woodland echo With an anthem to its queen!

Lo! she cometh in her beauty, Stately with a Juno grace, Raven locks, Madonna-braided O'er her sweet and blushing face:

Eyes of deepest violet, beaming With the love that knows not shame-- Lips, that thrill my inmost being With the utterance of a name.

And I bend the knee before her, As a captive ought to bow,-- Pray thee, listen to my pleading, Sovereign of my soul art thou!

O my dear and gentle lady, Let me show thee all my pain, Ere the words that late were prisoned Sink into my heart again.

Love, they say, is very fearful Ere its curtain be withdrawn, Trembling at the thought of error As the shadows scare the fawn.

Love hath bound me to thee, lady, Since the well-remembered day When I first beheld thee coming In the light of l.u.s.trous May.

Not a word I dared to utter-- More than he who, long ago, Saw the heavenly shapes descending Over Ida's slopes of snow:

When a low and solemn music Floated through the listening grove, And the throstle's song was silenced, And the doling of the dove:

When immortal beauty opened All its grace to mortal sight, And the awe of worship blended With the throbbing of delight.

As the shepherd stood before them Trembling in the Phrygian dell, Even so my soul and being Owned the magic of the spell;

And I watched thee ever fondly, Watched thee, dearest! from afar, With the mute and humble homage Of the Indian to a star.

Thou wert still the Lady Flora In her morning garb of bloom; Where thou wert was light and glory, Where thou wert not, dearth and gloom.

So for many a day I followed For a long and weary while, Ere my heart rose up to bless thee For the yielding of a smile,--

Ere thy words were few and broken As they answered back to mine, Ere my lips had power to thank thee For the gift vouchsafed by thine.

Then a mighty gush of pa.s.sion Through my inmost being ran; Then my older life was ended, And a dearer course began.

Dearer!--O, I cannot tell thee What a load was swept away, What a world of doubt and darkness Faded in the dawning day!

All my error, all my weakness, All my vain delusions fled: Hope again revived, and gladness Waved its wings above my head.

Like the wanderer of the desert, When, across the dreary sand, Breathes the perfume from the thickets Bordering on the promised land;

When afar he sees the palm-trees Cresting o'er the lonely well, When he hears the pleasant tinkle Of the distant camel's bell:

So a fresh and glad emotion Rose within my swelling breast, And I hurried swiftly onwards To the haven of my rest.

Thou wert there with word and welcome, With thy smile so purely sweet; And I laid my heart before thee, Laid it, darling, at thy feet!--

O ye words that sound so hollow As I now recall your tone!

What are ye but empty echoes Of a pa.s.sion crushed and gone?

Wherefore should I seek to kindle Light, when all around is gloom?

Wherefore should I raise a phantom O'er the dark and silent tomb?

Early wert thou taken, Mary!

In thy fair and glorious prime, Ere the bees had ceased to murmur Through the umbrage of the lime.

Buds were blowing, waters flowing, Birds were singing on the tree, Every thing was bright and glowing, When the angels came for thee.

Death had laid aside his terror, And he found thee calm and mild, Lying in thy robes of whiteness, Like a pure and stainless child.

Hardly had the mountain violet Spread its blossoms on the sod, Ere they laid the turf above thee, And thy spirit rose to G.o.d.

Early wert thou taken, Mary!

And I know 'tis vain to weep-- Tears of mine can never wake thee From thy sad and silent sleep.

O away! my thoughts are earthward!

Not asleep, my love, art thou!

Dwelling in the land of glory With the saints and angels now.

Brighter, fairer far than living, With no trace of woe or pain, Robed in everlasting beauty, Shall I see thee once again,