 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
TO ---.
I would not tell thee for the world
Thy early love will change;
I would not see thy sweet lip curled
In scorn of words so strange.
Thy early love will change;
I would not see thy sweet lip curled
In scorn of words so strange.
201
I would not bid thy smiles away,
Nor quell thy speaking blush;
For happy spirits lend the ray,
And timid thoughts the flush.
Nor quell thy speaking blush;
For happy spirits lend the ray,
And timid thoughts the flush.
Yet love is but a dangerous guest
For hearts so young as thine,
Where youth's unshadowed joy should rest,
Life's spring-time fancies shine.
For hearts so young as thine,
Where youth's unshadowed joy should rest,
Life's spring-time fancies shine.
Too soon—oh! all too soon would come
In later years the spell,
Touching, with changing hues, the path
Where once but sunlight fell.
In later years the spell,
Touching, with changing hues, the path
Where once but sunlight fell.
Then, sweetest, leave the wildering dream,
Till time has nerved thy heart
To brook the fitful cloud and gleam
Which must in love have part.
Till time has nerved thy heart
To brook the fitful cloud and gleam
Which must in love have part.
Ah! life has many a blessed hour
That passion never knows;
And youth may gather many a flower
Beside the blushing Rose.
That passion never knows;
And youth may gather many a flower
Beside the blushing Rose.
202
Turn to thy books! my gentle girl!
They will not dim thine eyes,
Thy hair will all as richly curl,
Thy blush as brightly rise.
They will not dim thine eyes,
Thy hair will all as richly curl,
Thy blush as brightly rise.
Turn to thy friends! a smile as fond
On friendship's lip may be,
And rising from as true a heart
As love can offer thee.
On friendship's lip may be,
And rising from as true a heart
As love can offer thee.
Turn to thy home! affection wreathes
Her dearest garland there;
And more than all, a mother breathes
For thee—for thee, her prayer!
Her dearest garland there;
And more than all, a mother breathes
For thee—for thee, her prayer!
Ah! life has many a hallowed hour
Of joy, Love never knows!
And youth may often find a flower
More precious than the Rose!
Of joy, Love never knows!
And youth may often find a flower
More precious than the Rose!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |