Page:Forget Me Not (1826).djvu/38

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THE CHOICE.


Now take thy choice, thou maiden fair, Of the gifts thy lovers bring;

The one has brought thee jewels rare, The other flowers of spring.

The maiden watched the rubies glow, And wreathed them in her hair; But heavy they prest upon her brow,

Like the weight of secret care.

The gems that bound her forehead high, Might have lighted a diadem;

Yet pale grew her cheek, and dim her eye --- Her heart was not with them:

And ever an inward pulse would stir, When she saw a spring flower wave;

But never again did they bloom for her, Till they bloomed upon her grave!

She was borne to her grave with purple pall, And scutcheon, and waving plume; One followed — the saddest one of all*-- And threw flowers over her tomb. L. E. L.

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