William James Jones

Flowers

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Bring flowers for the youthful throng,
Of variegated glow,
And twine of them a gaudy wreath
Around each childish brow.

Bring flowers for the maiden gay,
Bring flowers rich and rare,
And weave the buds of brightest hue
Among her waving hair.

Bring flowers to the man of grief--
They hold the syren art,
To charm the care-look from his brow,
The sorrow from his heart.

Bring flowers for the sick girl's couch;
'Twill cheer her languid eye
To know the flowers have bloomed again,
And see them ere she die.

Bring flowers when her soul has fled,
And place them on her breast,
Tho' ere their blooming freshness fade
We lay her down to rest.

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