 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
173
THE CHERUB'S SECRET.
What made my Ellen start and smile,
Then sink in soft repose again,
As if some joyous thought the while
Had darted through her slumb'ring brain,
Like rosy lightning brief and bright,
Illumining a summer night?
Then sink in soft repose again,
As if some joyous thought the while
Had darted through her slumb'ring brain,
Like rosy lightning brief and bright,
Illumining a summer night?
Perhaps a viewless cherub stole,
Young as thyself, as pure and fair,
On tiny pinions to thy soul,
And whisp'ring some sweet secret there,
Awoke that smile of heavenly glee:
My Ellen! wake—and tell it me!
Young as thyself, as pure and fair,
On tiny pinions to thy soul,
And whisp'ring some sweet secret there,
Awoke that smile of heavenly glee:
My Ellen! wake—and tell it me!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |