In Memory of Fannie Johnson White.
IF I could blend into my verse
That soft and slumb’rous haze,
So faintly resting on the rose
Before the autumn days
Have chilled its heart, and numbed the leaves,
And drunk the precious dew,
Then could I melodize in song,
Her life so pure and true.
Or could I weave into this song
Her smile, so rich and rare,
That found its way to every heart,
And left its halo there—
Then earth would not seem desolate,
Or days be lone or long,
Since she would sweetly live again
In verse, and smile in song.
All this is vain! both pen and voice,
Too weak to speak her worth;
Though memory writes in words of gold,
Her beauteous deeds on earth.
Heaven claimed our flower—there we may bloom,
If we the watchword keep:
“Whatsoever thou shall sow,
That also thou shall reap.”
The Heliotrope’s Soliloquy.
TO MRS. T. R. WALTON.
LET others bring from foreign shore
The glittering gem, the shining ore,
Rare trophies from the coral caves,
And hidden wealth of ocean waves,
To grace the bridal hall.
You floral queens! You roses white!
Bathed in the moonbeam’s yellow light,
You’ll smile in many a quaint design,
And help the banquet room to line—
But not the diadem.
My starry flowers—this purple heath—
She’ll gather for that trailing wreath;
For my faint breath of rare perfume
Is only for the bridal room—
The bride—the bridal crown.
To watch with me her trembling sigh,
The golden pansy’s modest eye
Shall only glance from out my bower,
With me proclaim the nuptial hour,
And seal the holy bond.
