A tree with feathery blossoms by the wall Breathes a faint fragrance; from the iron fence A robin calls, while shimmering over all The haze of spring sheds its soft indolence. Beauty has spread her shawl upon the grass -- A perfumed mantle woven faultlessly O'er the forgotten dead, till none may pass Unthinking by that silent company. How long ago -- what unremembered spring, Did Desolation, kneeling on the ground, Plant the frail roots for this rich blossoming? Lilies, for hope, on one new sodded mound! Now all the graves -- would she be glad to know? -- Are gay with little bells swung to and fro. |