Even as the blushes of the morn To love my mother, and to die- He lived and loved-will sorrow say He smiled, he sigh'd, he pass'd away : My mother smiles, then turns away, They whisper round me-what they say O, love is sorrow! sad it is To be both tried and true; I ever trembled in my bliss: But woodbines flaunt when blue bells fade, And many a youth in Shirecliffs' shade Then panting woods the breeze will feel Well, lay me by my brother's side, His last, and slept. SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. BY LEIGH HUNT. ROSES. WE are blushing roses, Whatsoe'er of beauty Yearns and yet reposes, Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath, Took a shape in roses. Hold one of us lightly, See from what a slender Stalk we bower in heavy blooms, And roundness rich and tender: Know you not our only Rival flower, the human? Loveliest weight on lightest foot, Joy-abundant woman? LILIES. WE are lilies fair, The flower of virgin light; Nature held us forth, and said, 66 "Lo! my thoughts of white." Ever since then, angels Hold us in their hands; You may see them where they take In pictures their sweet stands. Like the garden's angels Also do we seem; And not the less for being crown'd With a golden dream. Could you see around us The enamour'd air, You would see it pale with bliss POPPIES. WE are slumbering poppies, Some awake, and some asleep, Sleeping in our crowns. What perchance our dreams may know, Let our serious beauty show. Central depth of purple, Leaves more bright than rose,- Out of darkest grows? Who, through what funereal pain, Souls to love and peace attain ? Visions aye are on us, Pluto's always-setting sun, And Proserpine's bower: There, like bees, the pale souls come Taste, ye mortals, also; Milky-hearted, we ; Taste, but with a reverent care; Too much gladness brings to gloom CHORUS. WE are the sweet flowers, (Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith ;) Utterance, mute and bright, Of some unknown delight, We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple breath: |