Then with the Speedwell, blended the perfume
And the sweet beauty of an Apple-bloom,
And thus, ‘t is one of the loveliest feats,
Is spelled a gentle lady’s name in sweets.
Similar Posts
Rich in red honors, that upon him lie
Fall where he won his fame beneath the skyOf tropic Vera Cruz;Bold scorner of the cant that has its birthIn feeble or in failing powers;A lover of all frank and genial mirthThat wreathes the sword with flowers;He moves amid the warriors of the day,Just such a soldier as the artThat builds its trophies upon human…
Whose was the hand that painted thee, O Death!
Despair and sorrow waiting on thy breath —O gentle Power! who could have wronged thee so?Thou rather shouldst be crowned with fadeless flowers,Of lasting fragrance and celestial hue;Or be thy couch amid funereal bowers,But let the stars and sunlight sparkle through.So, with these thoughts before us, we have fixedAnd beautified, O Death! thy mansion here,Where…
I saw, or dreamed I saw, her sitting lone,
On some sweet poem — his, I think, who sings|Oenone, or the hapless Maud: no ringsFlashed from the dainty fingers, which held backHer beautiful blonde hair. Ah! would these blackLocks of mine own were mingling with it now,And these warm lips were pressed against her brow!And, as she turned a page, methought I heard —Hush!…
Could I reveal the secret joy
The memories so strangely wakedOf long forgotten things,The love, the hope, the fear, the grief,Which with that voice come back to me, —Thou wouldst forgive the impassioned gazeSo often turned on thee.It was, indeed, that early love,But foretaste of this second one, —The soft light of the morning starBefore the morning sun.The same dark beauty…
‘T was merry Christmas when he came,
And brighter burned the Christmas flame,And merrier sped the Christmas game,Because within the house there layA shape as tiny as a fay —The Christmas gift of God!In wreaths and garlands on the wallsThe holly hung its ruby balls,The mistletoe its pearls;And a Christmas tree’s fantastic fruitsWoke laughter like a choir of flutesFrom happy boys and…
Not to win thy favor, maiden, not to steal away thy heart,
Thou wast but a wildering problem, which I aimed to solve, and thenMake it matter for my note-book, or a picture for my pen.So, I daily conned thee over, thinking it no dangerous task,Peeping underneath thy lashes, peering underneath thy mask –For thou wear’st one – no denial! there is much within thine eyes;But those…