My daughters planted you and died,--
You are most dear to me;
Each now in smiling beauty stands,
Where placed by these fair youthful hands,--
Sweet rose and lilac tree.

Bloom on, bloom on, perfume the air,--
I love to see you flourish there,
And in bright beauty bloom;
Each tiny leaf I hold most dear,
Although you oft call forth a tear
For loved ones in the tomb.

Bloom on, sweet flow'rs, while yet you may;
Your fading leaves will soon portray
The lovely, fragile form,
Which passed from earth while skies seemed fair,
Like vapors quiv'ring in the air,
Before a coming storm.

I gaze upon these opening flowers--
They bring a dream of blissful hours,
When brighter germs were mine;
Once on my throbbing bosom lay
Sweet budding blossoms, fair as they,
Fraught with immortal minds.

'Neath summer skies these flow'rs will fade--
Fair emblems of the youthful dead,
But spring restores their bloom.