Caroline Fry (Wilson)

The Blossom

Said Anna to Jane, as they loiter'd one day,
In the year's early spring, b the garden-hedge side,—
"Those bright, clustering flowers on yonder tall tree,
Are the fairest and sweetest I ever espied.

"But I know that to-night, ere the sun shall have set,
Their form will be changed and their colours will fly;
I almost could weep that such beauty should pass —
'Tis surely a pity that blossoms must die.

"But at least I'll enjoy them as long as I can,
For go when they will I shall leave them with sorrow;
They shall bloom on my bosom at least for to-day,
Since, whether or no, I must lose them to-morrow."

The blossom was gather'd, and smiled in her breast,
For many an hour, full sweetly, no doubt —
It died, as it would were it left in the tree—
But she who had gather'd it had not the fruit.

And 'tis so that we sigh o'er our life's fleeting joys,
Forgetting the purpose for which they were given;
Forgetting, though sweet be the blossoms on earth,
The fruit they should bear us is gather'd in heaven.