THE MYRTLE. 
7 
ILLUSTRATION OF THE SENTIMENT. 
The myrtle on thy breast or brow 
Would lively hope and love avow. 
Wippen. 
A myrtle, fairer than 
E’er grew in Paphos, from the hitter weeds 
Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds 
A silent space with ever sprouting green. 
All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen; 
Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, 
Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing. 
There let us clear away the choking thorns 
From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, 
Yean’d in aftertimes, when we are flown, 
Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown 
With simple flowers: let there nothing he 
More boisterous than a lover’s bended knee ; 
Nought more ungentle than the placid look 
Of one who leans upon a closed hook; 
Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes 
Between two hills. All hail, delightful hopes! 
As she was wont, the imagination 
Into most lovely labyrinths will he gone, 
And they shall he accounted poet-kings. 
Who simply tell the most heart-easing things. 
Keats. 
