166 THE ROSE LEAF. 



I would be numbered with each gentler feeling, 

 Treasured with memories of thy by-gone years. 



Loved with vague, dreamy tenderness, concealing 

 Nought to disturb the heart, or waken tears. 



Be mine the sage's meek, unuttered prayer, — 

 I would not make thy brimming cup run o'er, 



But let me be the rose-leaf resting there 

 To drink new freshness, and I ask no more. 



