Death turned his sword as she came, and she passed through the gateways of heaven,
Treading the pavements of pearl and haloed with shimmering gleams,
On, till the veil hung between immortal and mortal was riven,
And she brought from the garden of God the blue-eyed flower of her dreams.
PLUCK FLOWERS IN YOUTH.
Pluck flowers in youth, nor heed how old tongues prate;
Pluck flowers in youth, in age it is too late;
Pluck flowers when it is morn with flowers and you.
So soon they wither, do not hesitate,
Lest you should gather roses not, but rue.
Pluck flowers ere life grows cold and desolate,
And love turns hate.
Pluck flowers in youth; age is the time for wheat;
To age not even the rose itself is sweet,
Pluck flowers, pluck flowers in youth, while faith is great,
Ere life and joy grow cankered with deceit.
Pluck flowers in youth; no sadder thought brings Fate
Than memory of scorned joys crushed by our feet
In flight too fleet.
O FOOLISH HEART.
O foolish heart, to flutter so
With hope and fear;
O treacherous blush, to come and go
When he is near;
Why do ye to the world reveal
The passion I would fain conceal?
O ears, that love to hear him speak;
O downcast eyes,
Whose lashes droop upon each cheek,
Nor dare to rise;
Do ye not know she sees and hears
Fond looks and words that cost me tears?
Be brave, mine heart, if he despise,
Give scorn for scorn;
Be deaf, mine ears, be blind, mine eyes,—
Yet soul, why mourn?
Though she may claim him for her own,
My love, my love is mine alone.