PIMPERNEL 
I FEAR THE STORM. 
My heart is like the trembling flower, 
It shrinks—it folds its leaflets warm, 
When dark the clouds of coldness lower, 
Or evil-eyes portend the storm: 
But when Love’s holy sunshine gleams, 
Where’er the precious light may glow, 
It wakes—it blooms from tearful dreams,— 
And turns to win it ere it go. 
The universe looked dark, 
My soul was cold with sorrow; 
Hope drooped her wings and hushed her song, 
And cared not for the morrow. 
One word of kindness came, 
One smile, one look of feeling; 
Lo! through the mist that veiled my world, 
The glorious dawn was stealing. 
Hope’s angel pinions played 
Again in timid pleasure, 
And happy love smiled through his tears 
To hear her warbled measure. 
21 
