High on the rocks and eternal snows
A delicate, wee blue blossom grows.
Far from all human care and love,
It lifts its face to the skies above
And prays, while fiercely the cold wind blows,
"O God, forget me not!"
The flower is blue from its love of the sky,
As a soul is merged in a worship high,
And its tiny heart is the sun's own gold.
Hear it breathe its plea to the tempest bold
And the shrieking eagles that o'er it fly,
The sweet forget-me-not.
A beating heart o'er the flower goes,
And lo! the life-blood more quickly flows;
A sudden yearning fills it with pain,
'Till it beats in tune to a low refrain
That every passionate being knows,—
"O Love, forget me not!"
Strange, how our spirits remembrance crave,
And long the wraith of a life to save—
A guide to the days that are no more,
Where only regret may wander o'er.
Yea, even the buried would have his grave
Inscribed "Forget me not."
