Page:Forget Me Not 1826.pdf/2

Page 18 THE CHOICE.

Now take thy choice, thou maiden fair, Of the gifts thy lovers bring; The one has brought thee jewels rare, The other flowers of spring.

The maiden watched the rubies glow, And wreathed them in her hair; But heavy they prest upon her brow, Like the weight of secret care.

The gems that bound her forehead high, Might have lighted a diadem; Yet pale grew her cheek, and dim her eye— Her heart was not with them:

And ever an inward pulse would stir, When she saw a spring flower wave; But never again did they bloom for her, Till they bloomed upon her grave!

She was borne to her grave with purple pall, And scutcheon, and waving plume; One followed—the saddest one of all— And threw flowers over her tomb. L. E. L.