 | [Poems by Osgood in] The poetry of flowers and Flowers of Poetry |  |
GRACES.
HUNDRED-LEAVED ROSE.
So light—that, gazing breathless there,
Lest the celestial dream should go,
You'd think the music in the air
Waved the fair vision to and fro!
Lest the celestial dream should go,
You'd think the music in the air
Waved the fair vision to and fro!
Or that the melody's sweet flow
Within the radiant creature played;
And those soft wreathing arms of snow
And white sylph-feet, the music made!
Within the radiant creature played;
And those soft wreathing arms of snow
And white sylph-feet, the music made!
Now gliding slow, with dreamy grace,
Her eyes beneath their lashes lost—
Now motionless, with lifted face,
And small hands on her bosom crossed
Her eyes beneath their lashes lost—
Now motionless, with lifted face,
And small hands on her bosom crossed
And now, with flashing eyes, she springs,
Her whole bright figure raised in air,
As if her soul had spread its wings,
And poised her one wild instant there!
Her whole bright figure raised in air,
As if her soul had spread its wings,
And poised her one wild instant there!
| [Poems by Osgood in] The poetry of flowers and Flowers of Poetry | |