to a dear little truant.
41
And while the wily siren sings,
The boy forgets his angel-wings!
The boy forgets his angel-wings!
Yet still he sometimes leaves his play,
And asks to Virtue's shrine the way;
But Beauty weaves anew her chain,
And Virtue looks for Love in vain.
And asks to Virtue's shrine the way;
But Beauty weaves anew her chain,
And Virtue looks for Love in vain.
TO A DEAR LITTLE TRUANT,
Who wouldn't come home.
When are you coming? the flowers have come!
Bees in the balmy air happily hum;
In the dim woods where the cool mosses
Gleams the Anemone's little, light star;
Tenderly, timidly down in the dell,
Sighs the sweet violet, droops the harebell
Soft in the wavy grass lightens the dew;
Spring keeps her promises,—why do not you?
Bees in the balmy air happily hum;
In the dim woods where the cool mosses
Gleams the Anemone's little, light star;
Tenderly, timidly down in the dell,
Sighs the sweet violet, droops the harebell
Soft in the wavy grass lightens the dew;
Spring keeps her promises,—why do not you?
