 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
211
TO ANNA,
IN REPLY TO A LETTER.
Dont say you are “ugly,” you darling!
While still your sweet letters unfold
The same glowing soul, that enlivened
Those delicate features of old!—
While still your sweet letters unfold
The same glowing soul, that enlivened
Those delicate features of old!—
That soul, whose pure fire would illume, love,
A cheek of less exquisite mould,
With a changeable beauty and bloom, love,
To which that of a Venus were cold.
A cheek of less exquisite mould,
With a changeable beauty and bloom, love,
To which that of a Venus were cold.
Dont say you've grown “ugly and stupid,”
While still, in each line, I can trace,
Some glimpse of those lovely emotions,
Which once I could read in your face!
While still, in each line, I can trace,
Some glimpse of those lovely emotions,
Which once I could read in your face!
When you tell me your mind wears a chain, love,
When you tell me your heart is asleep,
Then may-be, but never till then, love,
The wreck of your beauty I'll weep.
When you tell me your heart is asleep,
Then may-be, but never till then, love,
The wreck of your beauty I'll weep.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |