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A ROSE-BUD, AND FROM THEE.
A rose-bud, and from thee! Ah! how my heart Throbs as I looK upon it!—never yet Were such rare beauties is a rose-bud met,As I see here:—these leaves, half blown apart,— Roseate and soft as are thy lip and cheek,—Give out a perfume never hid beforeIn any flower's heart the earth e'er bore. How lovingly to me all fair things speakOf thee, the fair'st of all!—of thee, in whom All beauty is concentred!—Thus this rose, Fair in itself, with added beauty glows,And wears a newer and a richer bloom, Because once touched by thee,—for whose sweet sake The strains of a long-silent harp I wake.
