 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
IMPROMPTU.—TO ANNIE.
Her silken lash was drooping,At first she could not speak,
But th' eloquent colour trembling rose
Upon her youthful cheek:
At last the words found way,
And tears, till then unshed;
In low and faltering tones she spoke,—
“My birds! they are both dead!”
Sweet girl! if in thy heart
A bird is cherished so,
What wealth of love for human friends
Within its shrine must glow!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |