Classic Poem

I gathered dainty leaves and tinted buds,
And lovely roses in their freshest bloom,
For one, a child, whom wan disease had left
Exhausted in the shadow of the tomb.

Perchance those beauteous hues and graceful forms
Might make the sick-room cheerful, and beguile
Sad Lucie's weary waiting, and recall
Into her pallid cheek its wonted smile.

Upon the blossoms treasured in her hand
Her silent gaze with lingering pathos grew,
Until her pale lips quivered and bright tears
Suffused her eyelids like celestial dew.

Perplexed, I vainly sought for soothing words;
" What grieves my girl? The flowers — we'll put them by. "
She held them with an eager fondness, — " No!
They look so pretty that they make me cry. "