8o WHITE ROSES. 



She paused ; pulled down a trailing vine, 

 And twisted round her finger 



Its starry sprays of jessamine, 

 As one who seeks to linger. 



But I smiled lightly in her face, 



And passed on to the open space. 



Passed many a flower-bed fitly set 

 In trim and blooming order, 



And plucked at last some mignonette 

 That grew along the border; 



A simple thing that had no bloom, 



And but a faint and far perfume. 



She wondered why I would not choose 



That dreamy amaryllis,— 

 And could I really then refuse 



Those heavenly white lilies ! 

 And leave ungathered on the slope 

 That passion-breathing heliotrope ? 



She did not know — what need to tell 

 So fair and fine a creature.?— 



That there was one who loved me well 

 Of widely-different nature : 



