To A Flower On A Corpse Poem by Samuel Alfred Beadle

Ah, thou beautiful embellishment of earth,
By dew, and rain, and dutiful spring hurled,
A thing of loveliness, into this world
Of woe, and discord, and the cruel dearth
That blights our desires, and turns our hearth
Into a charnel house; nor king, nor earl,
Nor wit, can provoke the sad heart to mirth,
Where our hopes all end and our colors furl.
Fit emblem of man's transient stage art thou;
This morn beheld thee delightfully fair,
Full of fragrance, pleasingly sweet; but now,
This eve, thy withered form sleeps on the prow
Of that barque grim Death is launching out there,
In the omnivorous sea of dispair.