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FLY WITH ME.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

FLY WITH ME.

VENUS'S CAR.

Gay Zephyr bore to my feet, last night,
This curved and carved barouche of blue;
I thought it, at first, a flower in flight:
And so it will seem, perhaps, to you.
But press on the foremost petal, sweet,
That rose-teinted finger, soft and light,
And two young doves your touch will meet,
And spring from their couch to your startled sight
Gay Zephyr a secret whispered low,
When with the gift to my feet he flew;—

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It may be a fable—I thought it so:
And so it will seem, perhaps, to you.
But he said the queen of fairy-land—
The elfin Venus, wild and bright,
With a wave of her tiny, star-tipped wand,
Could charm these delicate doves to flight!
At play in her firefly-lighted bower,
He had heard her order her blooming car;
And she smiled, as she soared in the azure flower,
As smiles, in yon blue heaven, a star!
Oh! could I only summon her here,
And bid her bewitch the birds once more!
How fit a phæton this, my dear,
To waft us lovers the wild wave o'er!
You should be queen of a fairy realm!
There's a trifling fault in the vehicle—true:
It is rather too small for both, my gem:
And so it will seem, I fear, to you!