Poems (Osgood)/The "Fairer Flower"
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!