 | [Lilie sleeps, in] The angel visitor ; or, the voices of the heart |  |
'Tis meet they mingle thus—the budding flower,
On which love's fondest, tenderest care was shed,
And gems fresh plucked from Flora's fairest bower
Ere yet the morning flush had from them fled;—
On which love's fondest, tenderest care was shed,
And gems fresh plucked from Flora's fairest bower
Ere yet the morning flush had from them fled;—
| [Lilie sleeps, in] The angel visitor ; or, the voices of the heart | |