Poems (Osgood)/The "Fairer Flower"

by Frances Sargent Osgood

THE "FAIRER FLOWER."

"Oh! are they not most bright and fair!"
 The youthful lady cried;
And pointed to her blossoms rare
 With playful love and pride.

The soft moss-rose with veilèd bloom,
 Droops o'er the hands that tie it;
The lily lends its light perfume,
 The woodbine clusters by it.

But on the lady's lovely face,
 A blush out-blooms the rose;
And 'neath the hand that clasps the vase,
 Less fair the lily shows.

A soldier true and brave was he,
 And crown'd with loftiest honor;
He bent his dark and dauntless eyes
 With soften'd gaze upon her—

"Dear lady, yes! 'tis well the bower
 Its loveliest lends to thee,
But I can show a fairer flower
 If thou'lt but come with me!"

She gave her hand with artless grace,
 She cross'd the room half dreaming;
And there he show'd her own sweet face
 Within the mirror beaming!