 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
184
TO ---.
I vowed to thee a votive strain,But strove to keep my vow in vain;
For when with some kind deed of thine
I thought to fire the feeble line,—
A myriad on my memory rushed,
And lo! the grateful muse was hushed!
I could not to thy mind recall—
I could not thank thee for them all!
Yet, though the melody and fire
Of love upon my lips expire;
'Tis only in my heart to play
With sweeter power and warmer ray!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |