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III.

Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry

day;

Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen

of May;

And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel

copse,

Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white

chimney-tops.

IV.

There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the

pane:

I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:

I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on

high:

I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

V.

The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,

And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er

the wave,

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

VI.

Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early early morning the summer sun 'ill shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is

still.

VII.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light

You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.

VIII.

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,

And

'11 you come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.

I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you

pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant

grass.

IX.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.

X.

If I can I 'll come again, mother, from out my resting

place;

Though you 'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your

face;

Though I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what you

say,

And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.

XI.

Goodnight, goodnight, when I have said goodnight for

evermore,

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the

door;

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing

green:

She 'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

XII.

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor:

Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden

more:

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that

I set

About the parlour-window and the box of mignonette.

XIII.

Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born.
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year,

So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.

CONCLUSION.

I.

I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am;
And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb.
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year!
To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's
here.

II.

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise,

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that

blow,

And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go.

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