And Nature now begins again
Her courtship with the flowers;
She chants in groves her minstrel strain,
She smiles, and frowns, and weeps in rain
Of gentle April showers.
And while she tries with song of thrush
Once more those hearts to move,
I've seen her oft relentless crush,—
My bud still blooms forever fresh—
It is the Rose of Love!
MY JEWELS
His little Blue Dress is hidden away
From the eyes of the vulgar world,—
And the dear little Shoes,—more precious are they
Than silver or gold empearled—
Jewels that lure like the stars above,
Hidden from all but the eyes of love.
I watched him oft with a mother's heart
As he played with his dear little toys;
But now he is gone, and I sit apart
And muse of those vanished joys;—
Dream of his eyes and his beautiful hair,
And thrill with the love of a sweet despair.
The gaze of the vulgar world today
Would only my jewels abuse;
And this is the reason I hid them away,—
The little Blue Dress and the Shoes:
And I pray that in death my eyes may caress
The dear little Shoes and the little Blue Dress.