The words so soft and clear,
And told them over to the flowers
That bloomed in beauty near.

"I know not," thus she said to me,
"If my young cheek is pale,
But daily do I feel within
This life of mine grow frail.

"There is a flower that hears afar
The coming tempest knell,
And folds its tiny leaves in fear,--
The scarlet Pimpernel:

"And thus my listening spirit heard
The rush of Death's cold wing,
And tremulously folded close,
In childhood's early Spring.

"I never knew a parent's care,
A sister's gentle love:
They early left this world of ours
For better lands above.

"And so I loved not earthly joys,
The merry dance and play,
But sought to commune with the stars,
And learn the wind's wild lay.

"The pure and gentle flowers became
As sisters fair to me:
I needed no interpreter
To read their language free.

"And 'neath the proud and grand old trees
That seemed to touch the sky,
We prayed, alike with lowly head,
The violets and I.

"And years rolled on and brought to me
But woman's lot below,
Intensest hours of happiness,
Intensest hours of woe.

"For one there was whose word and smile
Had power to thrill my heart:
One eve the summons came for him
To battle to depart.

"And when again the setting sun
In crimson robed the west,
They bore him to his childhood's home,--
The life-blood on his breast.

"Another day, at vesper chime,
They laid him low to sleep,
And always at that fated hour
I kneel to pray and weep.

"'T is said the radiant stars of night,
When viewed through different air,
Appear not all in golden robes,
But various colors wear.

"And through another atmosphere,
My spirit seemed to gaze
For never more wore life to me
The hues of other days.

"Once to my soul unbidden came
A strange and fiery guest,
That soon assumed an empire there,
And never is at rest.

"It binds the chords with arm of might,
And strikes with impulse strong;
I know not whence the visitant,
But mortals call it song.

"It never pants for earthly fame,
But chants a mournful wail
For ever o'er the loved and dead,