We plant pale flowers beside the tomb,
And love to see them droop and fade;
For every leaf that sheds its bloom
Seems like a natural tribute paid.
Thus Nature soothes the grief she shares:
What are the flowers we hold most dear?
The one whose haunted beauty wears
The sign of human thought or tear.
Why hold the violet and rose
A place within the heart, denied
To fairer foreign flowers, to those
To earlier memories allied?
Like those frail leaves, each restless thought
Fluctuates in my weary mind;
Uncertain tree! my fate was wrought
In the same loom where thine was twined.
And thus from other trees around
Did I still watch the aspen tree,
Because in its unrest I found
Somewhat of sympathy with me.
L. E. L.
