CONVOLVULUS 
Aspiration. 
A careless rill was dreaming, 
One fragrant summer night; 
It dreamed a star lay gleaming 
With heavenly looks of light, 
Soft cradled on its own pure breast, 
That rose and fell, and rocked to rest, 
With lulling wave, its radiant guest, 
In silent beauty beaming; 
And like a lute’s low sighing, 
The rill sang to the star, 
“Why earnest thou, fondly flying, 
From those blue hills afar? 
All calm and cold without thy ray, 
I slept the long dark night away— 
Ah! child of heaven! forever stay!” 
No sweet voice rose replying. 
“Oh, glorious truant! listen! 
Wilt fold thy shining wings, 
That softly glance and glisten 
The while the wavelet sings ? 
Wilt dwell with me ? I’ll give thee flowers,— 
Our way shall be through balmy bowers, 
And song and dance shall charm the hours:— 
My star-love! dost thou listen ? 
“No gorgeous garden-blossom, 
In regal grace and bloom, 
May pour upon my bosom 
Its exquisite perfume; 
But I may wreathe, with wild flowers rare, 
That softly breathe, thy golden hair,— 
The violet’s tear shall tremble there. 
A fair though fragile blossom!” 
Alas! when morning slowly 
Stole o’er the distant hill, 
From that sweet dream, so holy, 
It woke—the sorrowing rill! 
No “child of heaven” lay smiling there,— 
’Twas but a vision bright and rare, 
That blessed, as passed the star in air, 
The rivulet lone and lowly. 
Kate Carol. 
