COLUMBINE, WHITE LILY AND LUPINE. 
It was a dream of Folly, from whicli I wake to weep. 
SEE FRONTISPIECE. 
You bid me give back scorn for scorn, 
Re-plume my spirit’s wounded wing, 
That now I idly fold forlorn, 
And loftier soar and proudlier sing! 
You never loved! You never staked, 
On one mad chance, your soul—your all! 
And from that dream of passion waked, 
To weep your wild hopes’ helpless fall. 
God knows it was not he I loved; 
False—weak and light as now he seems! 
It was but Fancy shrined in him, 
The “idol of my early dreams.” 
But not the less I lavished all 
The bloom of feeling on his breast, 
That bloom, which tears can ne’er recall, 
That frail, sweet bloom—the false one’s jest! 
And not the less—alone and lost— 
Of all Life’s bright romance bereft; 
I weep, that on so low a shrine, 
Faith, Hope and Joy, and Love were left! 
F. S. O. 
