66 POETRY OF THE ROSE. 



Glorious it were, where the bright heaven glows, 



To wander idly far away, 

 And to scent the musk'd, voluptuous rose 



Of beauty, blest Circassia ! 

 To spy some languid Indian maid, 



Wooing at noon the precious breeze, 

 Beneath the proud magnolia's shade ; 

 Or a Chilian girl at random laid 



On a couch of am ary Hides : 

 To behold the cocoa-palm, so fair 

 To the eye of the southern islander. 



Glorious Camelhan blooms to find, 



In the jealous realms of far Japan, 

 Or the epidendrum's garlands twin'd 



Round the tall trees of Hindostan. 

 All this were glad, and awhile to be 



Like a spirit wand'ring gaily ; 

 But oh ! what souls, to whom these are free, 

 Would give them all to share with me 



The joys that I gather daily, 

 When, out in the morning's dewy spring, 

 I mark the wild Rose blossoming ! , 



When the footpath's winding track is lost 



Beneath the deep o'erhanging grass, 

 And the golden pollen forth is tost 



Thickly upon me as I pass ; 

 When England is paradise all over ; 



When flowers are breathing, birds are singing ; 

 When the honeysuckle I first discover 

 Balming the air, and in the clover 



The early scythe is ringing ; 

 When gales in the billowy grass delight, 

 And a silvery beauty tracks their flight ; 



