Bud, if I kiss you, ’tis that you blow not, 
Mind that the pink mouth opens never! 
For while thus it pouts, her fingers wrestle, 
Twinkling the audacious leaves between, 
Till round they turn, and down they nestle— 
Is not the dear mark still to be seen? 
“Where I find her not, beauties vanish; 
Whither I follow her, beauties flee; 
Is there no method to tell her in Spanish 
June’s twice June since she breathed it with me? 
Come, hud, show me the least of her traces, 
Treasure my lady’s lightest footfall— 
Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces ! 
Roses, you are not so fair after all.” 
BUTTERCUP. A Smile for All. 
He hade me be happy—he whispered “forget me!” 
He vowed my affection was cherished in vain. 
“Be happy! forget me!” I would if he’d let me— 
Why will he keep coming to say so again ? 
He came,—it was not the first time, by a dozen— 
To take, as he said, “an eternal adieu!” 
He went, and, for comfort, I turned to—my cousin, 
When back stalked the torment his vows to renew! 
“You must love me no longer!” he said but this morning: 
“I love you no longer!” I meekly replied: 
“Is this my reward?” he cried; “falsehood and scorning 
From her, who was ever my idol, my pride?” 
He hade me be happy,—he murmured “forget me! 
Go into the gayest society, Jane!” 
And I would obey him right well, if he’d let me; 
But, the moment I do,—he comes loving again! 
F. S. 0. 
