200 
CONFESSION OF LOVE. 
ROSEBUD, MOSS. 
Rosa Muscosa. 
Language —CONFESSION OF LOVE. 
In my heart there is a holy spot, 
As ’mid the waste an isle of fount and palm, 
Forever green! the world’s breath enters not; 
The passion tempest may not break its calm: 
’Tis thine, all thine. 
Mbs. Hemans. 
“ Yes ! ” O, it is a kind reply, 
When flowing from the lips of dear, 
Young beauty — in whose ear we sigh 
The one fond wish. 
ANOtr. 
We never speak our deepest feelings; 
Our holiest hopes have no revealings 
Save in the gleams that light the face, 
Or fancies that the pen may trace; 
Or when we use, like Love, the flowers 
To mark our thoughts, as he the hours. 
Mes Hale. 
Love has a fleeter messenger than speech, 
To tell love’s meaning. His expresses post 
Upon the orbs of vision, ere the tongue 
Can shape them into words. 
G. Colmar, Je. 
