Was never a match for thee,
O beautiful flower,
O joy of an hour--
_And only an hour_--for me!

An hour, did I say?
Nay, loveliest, nay,
Not thus shall I part with thee,
But with subtle skill
I shall keep thee still,
Fadeless and fresh with me:--
Through toil and duty,
"A thing of beauty
Forever" my own to be'

As with drooping head
Amid thorns I tread,
I shall see thee unfold anew,
In the desert's dust,
Where journey I must,
Why beautiful form shall view,
And visions of Home
O'er my spirit will come,
As thro' tear-drops I gaze on you'




LIVING AND DYING.