The flowers that I have trained will bloom,
But at another's side;
And he I love will seek perchance,
A gentler, fairer bride.
And soon another shade will haunt
The echo and the gloom,
With pining heart of restless love,
And omens of the tomb.
Then set the festal board aside,
And bear the harp away;
The coronach must sound instead
From solemn kirk-yard gray.
TO MY SISTER.
ON HER BIRTHDAY.
'T is said that each succeeding year
Another circlet weaves
Within each living, waving tree;
Yet not in buds or leaves,—
But far within the silent core,
The tiny shuttles ply,
At Nature's ever-working loom,
Unseen by human eye.
And thus, within my "heart of hearts,"
Doth this returning day,
Another golden zone complete,
Another circle lay;
And when unto the shadowy past
In retrospect I flee,
I numerate the fleeting years
By deepening love for thee.
Since last we met this sunny day
How bright the hours have flown!
Youth, Love, and Hope, with fadeless light,
Around our way have shone;
And if a shadow from the past
Has floated o'er the dream,
'T was softened, like a violet cloud
Reflected in a stream.