When my tears hath made them sweet.”
“I sow,” said Death, “where the hamlet stands,
I sow in the churchyard drear;
I drop in the grave with gentle hands,
My flowers from year to year.
“The young and the old go into their rest,
To the sleep that awaits them below;
But I clasp the children unto my breast,
And kiss them before I go.”
“I sow,” said Spring; “but my flowers decay