84 POETRY Of THE ROSE. 



Joy's light-hearted dances, 



And melody's glances, 

 Are rays of a moment — are dying when born 



And pleasme's best dower 



Is nought but a flower, 

 A vanishing dew-drop — a gem of the morn. 



The bright eye is clouded, 



Its brilliancy shrouded, 

 Our strength dis^appears, we are helpless and lone ; 



No reason avails us. 



And intellect fails us ; 

 Life's spirit is wasted, and darkness comes on. 



BOWRINO. 



THE ROSE. 



Loved daughter of the laughing May 

 The light of all that's pure is thine ; 

 The rosy beams that wake the day, 

 Upon thy cheeks of velvet shine. 

 Thy beauty paints the evening skies 

 It mingles with the rainbow's dyes : 

 In love's own light its blushes speak 

 On ruby lip and vermeil cheek. 



No wooing zephyrs ever strayed 



To whisper love or steal a kiss, 

 Or dancing sunbeam ever played 



Upon a sweeter flower than this. 

 The night fays o'er thy bosom strew 

 The sparklet of the nectar dew ; 

 And on their shrine the pearls have slept 

 Like tears the dying stars have wept. 



