[Through Composed]

Ah! 'Tis Only a pansy blossom,
Only a withered flower,
Yet to me far dearer,
Than all in earth's fair bower;

Bringing me back the Junetime,
Of a summer long ago,
The fairest, suniest summer
that I shall ever know.

Oft from this pale, dead blossom,
I see a fair face start,
A face like a sweet wild flower,
Out of its faded heart.

Ah! 'Tis Only a pansy blossom,
Only a withered flower,
Yet to me far dearer,
Than all in earth's fair bower;

Bringing me back the Junetime,
Of a summer long ago,
The fairest, suniest summer
that I shall ever know.

Only a pansy, I gathered at her feet,
Faded, unlike the love
That made that summer sweet;
Still in this pansy blossom
Her tender face I see,

From under the church yard grasses,
Bringing her back to me.