Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/105

Rh I must take it from the pure ones:
 * Henceforth they must live apart.

But I could not cut my flow'ret—
 * My lost angel—from my heart.

Oft I think of that dead snowdrop,
 * Think with sorrow, when I meet,

"Day by day, the poor lost flowers,—
 * Sullied snowdrops of the street.

They were pure once, loved and loving,
 * And there still lives good within.

Ah I speak gently to them: harsh words
 * Will not lead them from their sin.

The are not like withered flowers
 * That can never bloom again:

They can rise, bright angel snowdrops,
 * Purified from every stain.