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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
448
XCIX. IF O'ER YOUR CHEEK THE BLUSH THAT PLAYS.
If o'er your cheek the blush that plays,
When he who loves you dares to praise,
Be sent by waken'd Feeling there,
Nor bloom to win the worldling's gaze,
Oh! deign my simple gift to take,
And braid it in your lustrous hair;
For mine, dear Grace, for Love's sweet sake,
Beside the blush, the rose-bud wear.
When he who loves you dares to praise,
Be sent by waken'd Feeling there,
Nor bloom to win the worldling's gaze,
Oh! deign my simple gift to take,
And braid it in your lustrous hair;
For mine, dear Grace, for Love's sweet sake,
Beside the blush, the rose-bud wear.
If, in your voice, the cadence low
That, soft replying, falters so,
Be taught by Truth and Love to thrill,
If from your heart its accents flow,
Then deign my token-flower to take,
And wear it with a gracious will;
Oh, flower of flowers! for Love's sweet sake,
Be tender and be truthful still.
That, soft replying, falters so,
Be taught by Truth and Love to thrill,
If from your heart its accents flow,
Then deign my token-flower to take,
And wear it with a gracious will;
Oh, flower of flowers! for Love's sweet sake,
Be tender and be truthful still.
But if the tone, the blush, be part
Of changeful woman's wily art,—
If that soft smile, so fond yet shy,
Speak not the language of the heart,—
If that dark lash droop not to hide
The tell-tale Love within thine eye,
Then give to air the blossom's pride,
As I the hope thou doom'st to die!
Of changeful woman's wily art,—
If that soft smile, so fond yet shy,
Speak not the language of the heart,—
449
The tell-tale Love within thine eye,
Then give to air the blossom's pride,
As I the hope thou doom'st to die!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |