Page:Voice of Flowers.pdf/9

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beautiful thou art, my winter flower! Day after day thy mesh of slender roots, That mid the water wrought their busy way, I've watch'd intently through the chrystal vase That deck'd my mantel-piece. Then, bursting forth, Came leaves, and swelling buds, and floral bells, Replete with fragrance: while thy graceful form, Fair Hyacinth, attracted every eye, And many a phrase of admiration woke, As from a lover's lip;—while unto me Thou wert as a companion, skill'd to smile All loneliness away. But now—alas! I mark the plague-spot stealing o'er thy brow, And know that thou must die. In thy brief space, Say—did thine inmost soul remember Him Of whom thy rare and pencill'd beauty spake So tenderly to us? And was thy breath A pure and sweet ascription to His praise? We trust it was; for those who teach of heaven Should have its spirit too.