I know a lovely little flower, a flower for which I pine -
I would go gather it, but bars my heavy hours confine;
Oh, grief, when free, how easily that little flower was mine !
. . .
Oh, were I sinking to the grave I often ask in vain,
And welcome Death stood by to loose the wasted captive's chain -
Ah, name me the Forget-me-not, I'd wake to life again!