 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
246
A POET'S EXCUSE FOR SHUTTING HIS EYES IN THE PRESENCE OF A BEAUTIFUL GIRL.
The miser hoards with jealous careThe gleaming gold he starves to win;
The diver hides his jewel rare,
With joy, his homely vest within.
And art not thou a gem divine,
Far worthier of an idol's place?
Ah! when these eyes could once enshrine
Thy graceful form, thy glowing face,—
When they in one impassioned gaze
Thy wealth of beauty wildly stole,
And let its glorious image blaze
Like sunlight on my startled soul;—
Say, is it strange that they should close,
Exulting o'er their radiant treasure,—
Content to dwell in dim repose,
And feel the miser's trembling pleasure?
No! since I've risked my heart to win
One impress of a gem so rare,
Oh! let me gaze on it within,
And starve my eyes to keep it there!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |