"Such as an old, plain man can gather in
"His dulling ear, and feel it slipping thro'
"The cold, dark, stony places of his heart."
"Yes, sing, sweet Kate," said Alfred in her ear;
"I often heard you singing in my dreams
"When I was far away the winter past."
So Katie on the moonlit window lean'd,
And in the airy silver of her voice
Sang of the tender, blue "Forget-me-not."

Could every blossom find a voice,
And sing a strain to me;
I know where I would place my choice,
Which my delight should be.
I would not choose the lily tall,
The rose from musky grot;
But I would still my minstrel call
The blue "Forget-me-not!"

And I on mossy bank would lie
Of brooklet, ripp'ling clear;
And she of the sweet azure eye,
Close at my list'ning ear,
Should sing into my soul a strain
Might never be forgot--
So rich with joy, so rich with pain
The blue "Forget-me-not!"

Ah, ev'ry blossom hath a tale
With silent grace to tell,