felamcn. 
Mrs. Southey. 
T LOVE thee well, my dainty flower I 
A My wee, white, cowering thing, 
That shrinkcth like a cottage maid, 
Of bold, uncivil eyes afraid, 
Within thy leafy ring! 
I love thee well, my dainty dear ! 
Not only that thou’rt fair,— 
Not only for thy downcast eye, 
Nor thy sweet breath, so lovingly, 
That woos the caller air. 
But that a world of dreamy thoughts 
The sight of thee doth bring. 
Like birds who’ve wandered far from lienee 
And come again (we know not whence), 
At the first call of Spring. 
As here I stand and look on thee, 
Before mine eyes doth pass— 
(Clearing and quick’ning as I gaze,) 
An evening scene of other days, 
As in a magic glass. 
• • • • 
