Flower Poetry Fridays: Spring Blossoms to the Mourner

Welcome back to Flower Poetry Fridays with Mrs. Sigourney. Each Friday a new poem will be posted from her The Voice Of Flowers.


THOU bringest violets in thy hand,
    Sweet Spring. Thy gifts how vain
To soothe us for those fair, blue eyes,
    That ope no more again.

Thou bringest music of the birds,
    As if such strain could pay
For their melodious speech, who sank
    From our lone bowers away.

Thou showerest breathing roses round,
    To blush on beauty’s breast ;
Give back ! give back those lips of rose,
    That to our own were prest.

Thou know’st to burst the tyrant gloom
    Of Winter’s icy urn ;
Teach them to break the envious tomb,
    And to our arms return.

Thou canst not ! To our grieving souls
    Thy boasted spell is o’er ;
From all thy gifts to those we turn,
    Whom thou canst ne’er restore.

To those o’er whom thy quicken’d turf,
    With earliest snow-drops grows ,
Yet fails to wake their wonted smile,
    Or move their deep repose.

Yes ; from thy charms to Him we turn,
    Who laid our treasures low,
And, with a Father’s love, ordains
    Our discipline of woe :

We look to that unsullied clime,
    Where storm shall never sweep ;
Nor fickle Spring the heart beguile,
    Nor drooping mourner weep.

Death has a way of bringing us to think about our own longevity. And to ponder the Great Beyond.

Spring is a time of awakening for the souls who remain on Earth. All the beauty that Nature has to offer may help us through the grieving process when we lose someone dear, but nothing can bring back our friends who’ve passed on to another life.

Mrs. Sigourney can only soothe her lonesome heart by looking upward to the heavens and by having faith that one day they will meet again.

Come back next Friday for the next installment in our series of flower poems from Mrs. Sigourney’s The Voice of Flowers, “The Hare-Bell”.

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