GOSSIP WITH A BOUQUET OF SPRING FLOWERS. 
93 
While those who never journey’d half as far 
Make sundry volumes, and expect the world 
To reverently peruse, and magnify 
What it well knew before. 
Most glorious Rose, 
You are the queenly belle. On you, all eyes 
Admiring turn. Doubtless, you might indite 
Romances from your own remembrances. 
They’re all the fashion now, and fill the page 
Of many a periodical. Wilt tell 
None of your heart-adventures ? Mighty cross 
To hoard them all so secretly. Well! well! 
I can detect the zephyr’s stolen kiss, 
In your red blush;—and what’s the use to seal 
Your lips so cunningly,—when all the world 
Call you the flower of love. 
And now, good bye, 
A pleasant gossip have I had with you, 
Obliging visitants,—but must away 
To graver things. Still keep your incense fresh 
And free to speak to Him, who tints your brows, 
Bidding the brown mould and unsightly stem 
Put forth such blaze of beauty, as translates 
To dullest hearts, His dialect of love. 
