SENSITIVE PLANT. Sensibility. 
The ear attuned—through Discord’s war— 
To music’s high, harmonious law, 
Perceives at once, with shrieking pain, 
The one false note that mars the strain. 
Ah! had thy heart, by Love’s sweet spell, 
Each jarring tone been tuned to tell, 
Each chord too rudely strained,—how soon 
You’d know that mine was out of tune! 
F. S. 0. 
LOVE’S EXCUSE FOR SADNESS. 
Chide not, belov’d, if oft with thee 
I feel not rapture wholly; 
For aye the heart that’s filled with love 
Runs o’er in melancholy.. 
To streams that glide in noon, the shade 
From summer skies is given; 
So, if my breast reflects the cloud, 
’Tis but the cloud of heaven! 
Thine image glassed within my soul, 
So well the mirror keepeth, 
That, chide me not, if with the light 
The shadow also sleepeth. 
Bulwer. 
