TOO YOUNG TO LOVE. 
201 
ROSEBUD, WHITE. 
Rosa Alba. 
Language — TOO YOUNG TO LOVE. 
Her bosom was a soft retreat 
For love, and love alone, 
And yet her heart had never beat 
To love’s delicious tone; 
It dwelt within its circle free 
From tender thoughts like these, 
Waiting the little deity, 
As the blossom waits the breeze, 
.Before it throws its leaves apart, 
And trembles like a love-touched heart. 
Mrs. Welby. 
O, why delay the happy time ? 
The hours glide swiftly by, 
And oft we see a sombre cloud 
Obscure the fairest sky. 
Then while the morn is rosy bright, 
Accept my earnest vow ; 
And 0, believe me, dearest maid, 
Love’s time, love’s time, is now. 
P. Benjamin. 
Gather the rosebuds while ye may ; 
Old time is still a-flying; 
And that same flower that blooms to-day 
To-morrow shall be dying. 
Herrick. 
