



THE BOUQUET. 105 
ROSE — WHITE. 
Rosa ALBA. 
Sadness, 
My heart is with its early dream; 
It cannot turn away, 
To seek again the joys of earth, . 
And mingle with the gay. 
The dew-nursed flower, that lifis its brow 
Beneath the shades of night, 
Must wither, when the sunbeam sheds 
Its too resplendent light. 
My heart is with its early dream; 
And vainly love’s soft power 
Would seek to charm that heart anew, 
In some unguarded hour, 
I would not that some gentle one 
Should hear my frequent sigh ; 
The deer, that bears its death-wound, turns 
In loneliness to die. Mrs. EmpBury. 



