Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?

Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.

Gashed with honourable scars,Low in Glory's lap they lie;Though they fell, they fell like stars,Streaming splendour through the sky.

There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.

There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

Who that hath ever been Could bear to be no more? Yet who would tread again the scene He trod through life before?

When evening closes Nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark To captivate her favorite fly And tempt the rover through the dark.