226
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
The painted leaves were drooping round
The rich but burning heart they bound.
She spoke,—oh! never music's tone
Hath sadder, sweeter cadence known:—
"With jarring creed, and hostile line,
And heart with fate at enmity,
This wasting flower is emblem mine,
'Tis faded, it hath but to die."
I took those leaves of faded bloom
To Mirza; ‘t was of both the doom.
He died the first of the battle line,
When red blood dims the sabre's shine;
He died the early death of the brave,
And the place of the battle was that of his grave.
She died as dies a breath of song
Borne on the winds of evening along;
