 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
TO MISS B***S.
If Rumour tell the truth, fair girl!
Ere winter-tempests lower,
Thou'lt wreathe, thro' glossy braid and curl,
A fragrant, snow-white flower;—
Ere winter-tempests lower,
Thou'lt wreathe, thro' glossy braid and curl,
A fragrant, snow-white flower;—
And o'er thy dark and drooping eyes,
Thy cheek's transparent glow,
Where dimpled roses richly rise,
A shining veil shall flow.
Thy cheek's transparent glow,
Where dimpled roses richly rise,
A shining veil shall flow.
268
How fair the orange-bloom will smile
Amid that auburn braid!
How soft will burn thy blush the while,
Beneath the bridal-shade!
Amid that auburn braid!
How soft will burn thy blush the while,
Beneath the bridal-shade!
Thou'rt young to wed!—that virgin flower,
White as thine own pure brow,
Just stolen from its dewy bower,
Is not more fresh than thou.
White as thine own pure brow,
Just stolen from its dewy bower,
Is not more fresh than thou.
Thou'rt young to wear the bridal-bloom,
Yet go! for in thy heart,
A lovelier blossom lights the gloom,
That timid fears impart.
Yet go! for in thy heart,
A lovelier blossom lights the gloom,
That timid fears impart.
The heaven-fed flower of Purity,
Oh! nurse the snow-drop still;
And in its breath a charm shall be,
To guard thee from all ill.
Oh! nurse the snow-drop still;
And in its breath a charm shall be,
To guard thee from all ill.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |