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THE VIATORIAN. FIHC
VOL. XVI.
ET
SP19FlK.
MAY, 1899.
NO. 8
HER FLOWERS. ~··.
!
A rosy lad with sparkling eyes Gathers a bu-nch of flowers fair, Then quickly to his playmate hies And crowns her shining, golden hair. ''Now you my Queen of May shall be, And I your champion," quoth he. Then flushed with pure and childish ioy, The maiden kissed the rosy boy. "Here are some flowers," the bridegroom said, A man~y grace upon his brow. "But fairer flower this morn I wed, And Oh! the fragrance of thy vow, ' Mine own forever mor~," quoth he, ''Ay! thine for all eternity," Returned the blushing happy bride, And kissed him with a true-love's pride. "My own true wife," an old man cries, And lays a wreath upon a bier. The tears are falling from his eyes And naught his aged heart can cheer. "She was my flower, my joy, my pride, But now she's gone," the old man cried. And bending low his whitened head, He kissed the forehead of his dead.
J. H. N.