TO A CHERRY BLOSSOM.

O cherry blossom! have you loved?

I have loved.

A maiden sweet as summer skies,

With tender lights in hazel eyes,

I have loved.

O cherry blossom! you are fair.

She was fair.

Her thoughts were whiter than your face;

She wore no proud pretending grace,

All so fair.

O cherry blossom! can you weep?

I can weep.

Her frail white form is buried now,

And over it the lilies blow—

Blow, and weep.

O cherry blossom! you will die.

All things die.

The sweetest things that we receive,

Ah, these of us take soonest leave—

You will die.

W. D. F.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.