Yield its secrets unto me?

Nevermore the earth shall claim thee,
Only lilies bloom for thee;
All the world is full of beauty
That thy eyes may never see.

On the hill the daisies springing,
Lift their heads to greet the morn;
Yet thou mayest not pluck the smallest
Of these blossoms lately born.

Violets may bring no memories
Unto thee of days gone by;
Summer eves and joyous mornings--
In the grave these, too, must die.

Long ago, the roses drooping,
Crimson blushed and died for thee;
Yet to-day no more thou know'st them,
They are lost in Life's dead sea.

Oh, the world is full of beauty!
Oh, the world is full of love!
Yet the chains that bind thee earthward,
Link thy soul with Heaven above.

Through the windows creeps the sunlight,
Rays of gold and restless red;
Covering all the world with glory,