Dedication 



So, Mabel, on the first of these 

 Ephemeral leaves, at random ta'en 

 From scented coppice-wolds of Spain, 

 I trace thy name, my heart to please — 

 And trust them to the idle breeze ! 



The breeze of fashion fluttering by — 

 Which often sports with flimsy toys. 

 And makes a busy murmuring noise 

 'Mid rustling leaves that yearly die — 

 May let them fall or make them fly. 



What if such foliage flew or fell — 

 It could but last a little while : 

 And, whether fortune frown or smile. 

 The first of these light leaves shall tell— 

 I care not whom — I love thee well ! 



32 



