OF all the flowers rising now,
Thou only sawst the head
Of that unopend drop of snow
beside thy bed.
In all the blooms that blow so fast,
Thou hast no further part,
Save those the hour I saw thee
I laid above thy heart.
Two snowdrops for our boy and girl,
A primrose blown for me,
Wreathed with one often-playd-
From each bright head for thee.
And so I graced thee for thy grave,
And made these tokens fast
With that old silver heart I
My first giftand my last.
I dreamd, her babe upon her breast,
Here she might lie and calmly rest
Her happy eyes on
that far hill
That backs the landscape fresh and still.
I hoped her thoughts would thrid the boughs
Where careless birds on love carouse,
those apple-blossoms through
To revel in the boundless blue.
But now her faculty of sight
Is elder sister to the light,
And travels free and unconfined
dense and rare, through form and mind.
Or else her life to be complete
Hath found new channels full and meet
Then, O, what eyes
are leaning oer,
If fairer than they were before!
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