72 WITH HERBS AN 7 D FLOWERS 



" And woe to me, fond foolish one, 

 To tempt an all-consuming ray ! 

 To think a flower could love a sun, 

 Nor feel her soul dissolve away ! 



could I be what once I was, 

 How should I shun his fatal beam ! 

 Wrapt in myself, my life should pass 

 But as a still, dark, painless dream. 



" But vainly in my bitterness 



1 speak the language of despair : 

 In life, in death, I still must bless 

 The sun, the light, the cradling air. 

 Mine early love to them I gave, 



And now that young bright orb on high 

 Illumines but a wider grave, 

 For them I breathe my final sigh. 



" How often soared my soul aloft 

 In balmy bliss too deep to speak, 

 When Zephyr came, and kissed with soft, 

 Sweet incense-breath my blushing cheek, 

 When beauteous bees and butterflies 

 Flew round me in the summer beam, 

 Or when some virgin's glorious eyes 

 Bent o'er me like a dazzling dream ! 



"Ah, yes! I know myself a birth 



Of that all-wise Almighty Love 



Which made the flower to bloom on earth, 



And sun and stars to burn above ; 



