Spring has passed and has left behind 
Perfumed gardens to scent the wind, 
And beautiful flowers that bless the eyes, 
With visions of a lost paradise: 
But thou art lovelier far than these, 
And owest no charm to sun or breeze: 
Their lifeless colours could never vie 
With the spirit that speaks in thy laughing eye. 
John Keese. 
I love a hand that meets mine own 
With grasp tnat causes some sensation; 
I love a voice whose varying tone 
From Truth has learned its modulation. 
f. s. o. 
