CHANGES DURING SICKNESS. Ill 



Or crimson, fleck d with white, thro the broad 



leaves, 



Were redolent of beauty. So, methought 

 I d close my books, and study with the flowers, 

 Where sang the bee ; and where, for aught I 



knew, 

 Might winged angels hover. 



Closely hid 



In a dense grape-vine, was a cunning nest, 

 Which oftimes I had visited, to strew 

 Crumbs for the brooding mother. On that 



morn 

 When fell disease stalk d near me with his 



chain, 



Intent to smite me, tho I knew it not, 

 I had withdrawn those curtaining leaves, and 



met 

 Her clear, bright eye. 



Now, all were fled and gone ! 

 Yes, those small eggs with gladness and with 



song 



Had travell d forth to swell the tide of love 

 That bathes Creation in its boundless sea. 

 Oh ! ever-watchful goodness, that doth work 

 Whether we sleep, or, neath the weight of 



pain, 

 Bow down in dreamy reverie ; while time, 



