Part 1 — SELECTION IV
Reading edition
BRING BACK MY FLOWERS
A child sat by a limpid stream, And gazed upon the tide beneath; Upon her cheek was joy's bright beam, And on her brow a blooming wreath. Her lap was filled with fragrant flowers, And, as the clear brook babbled by, She scattered down the rosy showers, With many a wild and joyous cry, And laughed to see the mingling tide Upon its onward progress glide.
And time flew on, and flower by flower Was cast upon the sunny stream; But when the shades of eve did lower, She woke up from her blissful dream. "Bring back my flowers!" she wildly cried; "Bring back the flowers I flung to thee!" But echo's voice alone replied, As danced the streamlet down the lea; And still, amid night's gloomy hours, In vain she cried, "Bring back my flowers!"
O maiden, who on time's swift stream Dost gayly see the moments flee, In this poor child's delusive dream An emblem may be found of thee. Each moment is a perfumed rose, Into thy hand by mercy given, That thou its fragrance might dispose And let its incense rise to heaven; Else when death's shadow o'er thee lowers, Thy heart will wail, "Bring back my flowers!"
Lucy Larcom.