LEGEND OP THE SPIRIT-FLOWERS. 129 
I have dyed them with pearl, and stolen the flush 
Of the dawn from the hills, in the morning’s faint blush ; 
And the odors they breathe of, to me were first given 
By an angel I knew in the gardens of heaven : 
And Love, should he ever remember the tale, 
Shall tell how I perfumed the May of the vale. 
Beautiful spirit, why dost thou sigh 1 
Sad thoughts float about me, like clouds, on the sky, 
Of the false vows that may on these blossoms be sworn, 
Of the rose that will wither, and leave but the thorns 
Of hopes that may live after Love is long dead, 
Like the stem left behind when the flower is shed. 
And that is the cause why I sigh—why I sigh— 
To think that the heart must be broken, to die. 
Sister, sister, what hast thou found, 
Half hidden amid the green leaves on the ground ? 
They are the dim Violets, daughters of Spring, 
Deeper dyed than the blue of the butterfly’s wing ; 
Yet modest as Love in the bud of the Rose, 
When the green can no longer its blushes enclose: 
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