“ Take this garland for thy golden hair”— 
So I spake unto a maiden fair, 
Maid with eyes of love, like heaven’s own blue, 
Thinnest veil of cloud soft shining through— 
’t is of earliest bloom, 
“ Take this garland- 
Newiy plucked, and filled with fresh perfume. 
Had I jewel rare, and precious stone, 
Gems of Ind, O! they were thine alone; 
Costliest gift for thee were all too poor—• 
Take this garland—I can give no more. 
Fairer flowers than these indeed I know; 
On the lonely heath afar they blow: 
There the violet peeps beside the spring, 
Coyly peeps, as loving linnets sing— 
Go with me, and we will gather there 
Fairer, sweeter flowers to wreath thy hair.” 
Bashfully the maid the garland took; 
Like rewarded child, she blushed and shook: 
Clearest red her cheek, as when the rose, 
Dewy shene, behind the lily blows. 
