 | A Dream |  |
45
A GARLAND.
Oh, how gently I wove, from the choicest of flowers,A sweet garland of hope in true love's pleasant bowers.
There were lilies and bluebells and roses rare,
And I plucked them so tenderly, wove them with care.
Round my heart did I weave them, so gently was seeming
All those velvety petals that soothed in love's dreaming;
But my sweet garland faded, was broken apart:
Now the thorns of my garland are deep in my heart!
| A Dream | |