TO A FLOWER ONCE WORN UPON HER BREAST
Reading edition
Flower, where art thou now, that once Lay on her breast? Had not her glory Sunk me in deep forgetfulness Of all, I should have prayed her then For thee, happy flower. But with Thy mother earth, and all the air That with thy breathing fragrant was; With the mighty sun that gave thee Life, and the night that gave thee rest, With these miracles—little flower, Yea, thou also, faded from my thought When she drew near, and filled mine eyes.
