Let balme and cassia send their scent
From out thy maiden monument.
* * * * * *
May all shie maids at wonted hours
Come forth to strew thy tombe with flowers!
May virgins, when they come to mourn,
Male incense burn
Upon thine altar! then return
And leave thee sleeping in thine urn.
I might crowd my pages with extracts from the older British poets
who wrote when these rites were more prevalent, and delighted
frequently to allude to them; but I have already quoted more than is
necessary. I cannot however refrain from giving a passage from
Shakespeare, even though it should appear trite; which illustrates the
emblematical meaning often conveyed in these floral tributes; and at
the same time possesses that magic of language and appositeness of
imagery for which he stands pre-eminent.
With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azured harebell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine; whom not to slander,
Outsweeten'd not thy breath.
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