 | [Poems by Osgood in] Sibylline verses ; or, the mirror of fate |  |
142
[As smiles with glory, soft but warm]
As smiles with glory, soft but warm,The morning 'mid the wreathing mist,
So through thy fair and graceful form
Thy spirit plays—as flowers resist,
Yet meekly bow before the blast
Their leaves, that but from lightness quiver,
And when the unwelcome wind has pass'd,
Look up again as bright as ever—
So meets thy brow the storm of fate,
Yet meekly seems to yield the while,
And so, wert thou left desolate,
Thou 'dst look to heaven with tender smile.
| [Poems by Osgood in] Sibylline verses ; or, the mirror of fate | |