YE who received me, when your hearts were sore, With double welcome, since I came in lieu Of one whose fond embrace I never knew -- Your child, my mother, dear for evermore -- Who scarce had time to greet the babe she bore, But, dying in her spring, bequeathed to you, Her father and her mother, guardians true, One little life, to tend when hers was o'er: Ye who have watched me from my infant days With tenderest love and care, who treasure yet Quaint sayings, sketches rude, and childish lays; Accept this wreath, entwined in April hours: Yours was the garden where the seed was set, To you I dedicate the opening flowers. |