WILD FLOWERS. 
46 
Low she bowed, and love-looks sparkled clear, 
Under silken lashes, through a tear: 
That was my reward —O! there was one, 
Holier far, my lips shall breathe to none. 
A Fable. 
Once, in the heart of a desert, 
Blossomed a rose-bush unseen: 
Only the sands were around it; 
Nought but its leaf was there green. 
Ever, at evening and morning, 
Trickled its flowers with dew; 
And then, in light circles, round it 
Fondly a nightingale flew. 
Over the sands strayed a pilgrim, 
Lost in the midst of the wild, 
When on his faint eye, at evening, 
Sweetly the rose-blossom smiled: 
Sweetly the nightingale wooed him, 
Under its shade to repose; 
