 | [Impromptu to a lady blushing, in] The New-York book of poetry |  |
58
IMPROMPTU TO A LADY BLUSHING.
The lilies faintly to the roses yield,
As on thy lovely cheek they struggling vie,
(Who would not strive upon so sweet a field
To win the mastery?)
And thoughts are in thy speaking eyes revealed,
Pure as the fount the prophet's rod unsealed.
As on thy lovely cheek they struggling vie,
(Who would not strive upon so sweet a field
To win the mastery?)
And thoughts are in thy speaking eyes revealed,
Pure as the fount the prophet's rod unsealed.
I could not wish that in thy bosom aught
Should e'er one moment's transient pain awaken,
Yet can't regret that thou—forgive the thought—
As flowers when shaken
Will yield their sweetest fragrance to the wind,
Should, ruffled thus, betray thy heavenly mind.
Should e'er one moment's transient pain awaken,
Yet can't regret that thou—forgive the thought—
As flowers when shaken
Will yield their sweetest fragrance to the wind,
Should, ruffled thus, betray thy heavenly mind.
| [Impromptu to a lady blushing, in] The New-York book of poetry | |