ASPHODEL, 
In Heaven I bloom foe Thee ! 
For I would wreath my path below 
With lowlier flowers of lighter glow, 
And save the sacred, golden bloom 
Of Love, with all its pure perfume; 
Nor let th’ ignoble cares of earth 
Profane my hud of heavenly birth. 
I’d hide it in my soul and keep 
It fresh, with tears that Truth would weep, 
And all its incense, light and dew, 
I’d fondly hoard for Heaven and you. 
Then, till we meet in holier bowers, 
Where radiant seraphs tend the flowers, 
Wilt thou not keep—through grief and glee— 
Love’s peerless blossom pure for me, 
And wreath with mine, where angels dwell, 
Thy spirit’s golden Asphodel? 
F. S. 0. 
ANGELICA.A Dream. 
“It is the air of gentleness, 
The form of matchless grace, 
The conscious dignity of mind, 
That lights thy angel face. 
The snowy brow—the auburn hair, 
The dark and lustrous eyes 
That tell ‘ my dream’ has come to earth 
An angel in disguise .” 
F. Aubrey. 
