THAT melancholy Amaranth;
It haunts me all the day,
With memories of "my birdie love,"
Now "flying," far away.
"Where is 'my precious baby' gone?"
Rings out, on all the air;
And stillness stuns my ear, the while;
Till echo answers "where?"
My Lizzie "birdie" nestles, now,
Upon the sounding shore;
Yet, still, her flute-notes sweet, I hear,
Through all the breakers' roar:
And, when she spreads her dovelike wings,
The foaming surge, to brave:
With plumes, like "yellow gold," she seems
An angel on the wave.
That melancholy Amaranth,
With pendant, purple flowers,
Like weeping-willow, stands to mark,
The graves, of parted hours.
Far, far, away, "my birdie love"
Is "plashing" in the sea;
"My love lies bleeding," all that's left,
To solitude and me.
August 15, 1856.
* The common name, for the flower, known to botanists, as "Amaranthus Melancholicus;" a favourite flower of the little grand-child, to whom these lines were written. The words in quotation, m these two pieces, are the baby language that they used together.