Lines To Florence Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

I am sitting sad and lonely
Where I've often sat before,
And I am musing, fondly musing
Of my Florence who pass'd o'er.
Pass'd into the realms supernal,
Far 'bove cloud-lands lofty height;
Yonder 'mid the fields Elysian,
Dwells my 'Flor' 'mong saints of light.

'Twas when autumn leaves were falling,
'Twas when harvest days had come,
That, King Death, the mighty reaper,
Came to take my darling home.
When the winds were softly sighing,
Zephyrs breathing low and deep,
Lulled to rest by such sweet music,
My bright treasure fell asleep.

Closely clasped to mother's bosom
On the well-night bursting breast,
Lay the early stricken floweret,
Lay the heart so near its rest.
And those little eyes upturning,
Brimful with their wealth of love,
Mutely, though with earnest language,
Said, I'm hastening up above.

Well, ere long, they said my darling
Had this earth exchanged for heaven-
She had upward spread her pinions,
Leaving hearts with anguish riven.
Yes; the autumn's wind so plaintive,
With its music soft and deep,
Woo'd my birdie from my bosom,
And she sweetly fell asleep.

But when time with me is over,
When my fleeting years have passed,
Oh! I trust once more to greet her,
And this parting be the last;
So, still then I wait expectant-
I, the Master's time doth 'bide'-
But to me the hour is precious,
That my little Florence died.