Gay was her garden as some gorgeous fabric
Weft on an Orient loom,
Star-set upon the sward quaint, old-time blossoms
Wrought broidery of bloom.
Verbenas, dahlias, asters, scarlet cannas
Like torches flaming tall;
( Methought the fair, old face, enframed in silver,
The sweetest flower of all! )
And one rare rose she watched each year with hoping
Till the dear eyes grew dim —
But ere a single blossom burst in beauty
God took her home to Him.
Yet when the Spring next woke the earth to laughter
And boon of blossom gave,
Starred was the rose with white, unearthly flowers —
We laid them on her grave.
And so, meseems, the buds we woo most fondly
Nor light nor perfume shed;
And Love's gold-hearted rose and Hope's star-flower
Oft bloom when we are dead.