A LOVER'S GARDEN.
137
Ah, let thy foot make facile flightThrough foxglove and through aconite!
Yet breathe thee where the winds outroll From heliotropes an atmosphereOf fullest joy and vaguest dole, That makes each moment deep and dear,While dim regrets shall fill thy soul,And longings for some unknown goal.
So shall these buds forever bloom Around thee in my memory's freak;The strawberry-tree refuse thee room, The sweet-brier spray brush by thy cheek,And thou be fresh 'mid their perfume,And white 'mid their ensanguined gloom.
Then flit down yonder hawthorn coast, The ancient lilac alleys thread,And turn the labyrinth, and be lost; That one day, when all hope is dead,And when the place is dreary most,Haunt it, I may, with thy sweet ghost!
