Flowers
Sweeter than flowers, tenderer than dawns of June
Bedewed, is young and lovely womanhood,
When in her bosom vibrates every good,
And pity, truth and virtue make one perfect tune.
As pure as these I hoped that life would be,
But like a dream the fond hope disappears,
A glimmering ghost down vistas of dark years,
And heart bereaved I fly from thought to thee.
Bedewed, is young and lovely womanhood,
When in her bosom vibrates every good,
And pity, truth and virtue make one perfect tune.
As pure as these I hoped that life would be,
But like a dream the fond hope disappears,
A glimmering ghost down vistas of dark years,
And heart bereaved I fly from thought to thee.
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