FABLES OF FLORA. 133 
To a cool green copse, where the shades were 
falling, 
The lady roved, in a low voice calling, 
1 O, for a blossom my song to grace 1 
Where'is the blossom deserves the place ? ’ 
No voice through the dark green boughs re¬ 
plying, 
The lady sank on the soft grass, sighing, 
‘ O, for a blossom, serene and fair, 
In my song to weave, on my heart to wear 1 ’ 
‘ Dear lady,’ she heard a low voice sighing, 
Close by the shelter where she was lying, 
‘ I do not wish in thy song to shine, 
But wear me, love, on that heart of thine 1 ’ 
At this modest plea, so sweetly uttered, 
The lady’s heart like a young dove fluttered; 
‘ Come, without beauty, or grace, or name! 
Thank God, one loveth me more than fame ! 1 
