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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
179
"BRING
BACK
MY
FLOWERS."
On
the
bank
of
a
rivulet
sat
a
rosy
child.
Her
lap
was
filled
with
flowers,
and
a
garland
of
rose-buds
was
twined
around
her
neck.
Her
face
was
as
radiant
as
the
sunshine
that
fell
upon
it,
and
her
voice
was
as
clear
as
that
of
the
bird
which
warbled
at
her
side.
The
little
stream
went
singing
on,
and
with
every
gush
of
its
music
the
child
lifted
a
flower
in
her
dimpled
hand,
and,
with
a
merry
laugh,
threw
it
upon
the
water.
In
her
glee
she
forgot
that
her
treasures
were
growing
less,
and
with
the
swift
motion
of
childhood,
she
flung
them
upon
the
sparkling
tide,
until
every
bud
and
blossom
had
disappeared.
Then,
seeing
her
loss,
she
sprang
to
her
feet,
and
bursting
into
tears,
called
aloud
to
the
stream,
"Bring
back
my
flowers!"
But
the
stream
danced
along,
regardless
of
her
sorrow;
and
as
it
bore
the
blooming
burden
away,
her
words
came
back
in
a
taunting
echo,
along
its
reedy
margin.
And
long
after,
amid
the
wailing
of
the
breeze
and
the
fitful
bursts
of
childish
grief,
was
heard
the
fruitless
cry,
"Bring
back
my
flowers!"
Merry
maiden,
who
art
idly
wasting
the
precious
moments
so
bountifully
bestowed
upon
thee,
see
in
the
thoughtless
child
an
emblem
of
thyself!
Each
moment
is
a
perfumed
flower.
Let
its
fragrance
be
diffused
in
blessings
around
thee,
and
ascend
as
sweet
incense
to
the
beneficent
Giver!
Else,
when
thou
hast
carelessly
flung
them
from
thee,
and
seest
them
receding
on
the
swift
waters
of
Time,
thou
wilt
cry,
in
tones
more
sorrowful
than
those
of
the
weeping
child,
"Bring
back
my
flowers!"
And
thy
only
answer
will
be
an
echo
from
the
shadowy
Past,--"Bring
back
my
flowers!"
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