130 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Our love—how did it spring ? In sooth it grew 
Even as some rare exotic in a clime 
Unfriendly to its growth : yet rich in hue. 
Voluptuous in fragrance, as if Time 
Had oeen to it all sunlight and soft dew,— 
As if upon its freshness the cold rime 
Of death should never fall! How came it then! 
Even as the manna fell ’midst famish’d men. 
To be snatch’d up in transport! And we fed 
Upon affection’s banquet, that ne’er pall’d 
Upon the spirit’s palate ! Friendship shed 
A light around our bosoms which recall’d 
The memory of that bard, whose soul was wed- 
With love surpassing woman’s love, ungall’d 
By selfish doubts—to him, the monarch’s son, 
Brave Jonathan! Like their’s, our souls were one* 
Oh ! long we loved in silence ! Neither spake 
Of that which work’d the thoughtful mine 
within;— 
Thou didst not guess that, sleeping or awake, 
My thoughts were full of thee till thought grew 
sin: 
For it is sin of earthly things to make 
Our idols ! and I never hoped to win 
Thy coveted affection ; but for me, 
Thy heart was als J yearning silently ' 
