An Easter Flower.

I.

The flower that she gave to me
    Has withered now and died--
But yet with fond fidelity
    Its faded leaves abide.


II.

The petals that so fragrant then
    She wore upon her breast--
Still clinging to the lifeless stem,
    With miser care possessed.


III.

As when in sweetest purity
    It shed its perfume rare,
A symbol dear 'twill ever be
    Of one divinely fair!


IV.

Plucked by the cruel hand of Death
    In beauty's youthful bloom--
She perished with his chilling breath,
    And withered in the tomb.


V.

But I will cherish ever thus
    The token that she gave
When sun-lit skies were over us,
    Unclouded by the grave!