 | Rural sketches and poems |  |
LINES.
“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.”
—Keats.
—Keats.
The primrose-shaws of Kilton grove
Are balmy-soft, and fragrant fair,
But she the floweret of my love
Surpasses them beyond compare.
Are balmy-soft, and fragrant fair,
But she the floweret of my love
Surpasses them beyond compare.
The violet on the castle wall
The hawthorn-tree that blossoms nigh—
O, she is fairer than them all,
And meek in maiden modesty.
The hawthorn-tree that blossoms nigh—
O, she is fairer than them all,
And meek in maiden modesty.
I gaz'd upon the heavens so clear,
One lovely star illum'd the scene,—
Behold, a fairer gem is near
Star of my heart, my bosom Queen!
One lovely star illum'd the scene,—
Behold, a fairer gem is near
Star of my heart, my bosom Queen!
I saw the glinting of her eye
That fell with soft and mellowed light,
The loveliest star in all the sky,
Beside the moon, was not so bright.
That fell with soft and mellowed light,
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Beside the moon, was not so bright.
The peach-flower blossoming in May,
Can match not with her cherry lip,
The honey-bee at dawn of day
Might hither hie its sweets to sip.
Can match not with her cherry lip,
The honey-bee at dawn of day
Might hither hie its sweets to sip.
But not alone her graceful form,
Her nimble step, her starry eye,
Her mind can rise o'er passion's storm,
She hath a soul can Fate defy.
Her nimble step, her starry eye,
Her mind can rise o'er passion's storm,
She hath a soul can Fate defy.
She's gone! 'tis thus Love's dreams depart,—
Rose of the desert, fare thee well:
Oft will thy memory warm my heart,
Thou fairest flower of Hilda-well!
Rose of the desert, fare thee well:
Oft will thy memory warm my heart,
Thou fairest flower of Hilda-well!
| Rural sketches and poems | |