Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/209
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To the Rose.
The star of love on evening's brow hath smiled,
Showering her golden influence with her beam;
Hashed is the ocean wave, and soft and mild
The breathing zephyr; lulled is every stream,
Placid and gentle as a vestal's dream,
The bard of night, the angel of the spring,
O'er the wild minstrels of the grove supreme,
Near his betrothèd flower expands his wing—
Wake, lovely rose, awake, and hear thy poet sing!
Showering her golden influence with her beam;
Hashed is the ocean wave, and soft and mild
The breathing zephyr; lulled is every stream,
Placid and gentle as a vestal's dream,
The bard of night, the angel of the spring,
O'er the wild minstrels of the grove supreme,
Near his betrothèd flower expands his wing—
Wake, lovely rose, awake, and hear thy poet sing!
The night is past; wake, Queen of every flower,
Breathing the soul of spring in thy perfume;
The pearls of morning are thy wedding dower,
Thy bridal garment is a robe of bloom!
Wake, lovely flower! for now the winter's gloom,
Hath wept itself in April showers away;
Wake, lovely flower! and bid thy smiles assume
A kindred brightness with the rosy ray
That streaks the floating clouds with the young blush of day.
Breathing the soul of spring in thy perfume;
The pearls of morning are thy wedding dower,
Thy bridal garment is a robe of bloom!
Wake, lovely flower! for now the winter's gloom,
Hath wept itself in April showers away;
Wake, lovely flower! and bid thy smiles assume
A kindred brightness with the rosy ray
That streaks the floating clouds with the young blush of day.
The Guelder Rose.
Thou full-blown comely creature,
Say, what is thy sudden stound,
That flushes thy cheek's white feature,
In the guise of Love's own wound!
Say, what is thy sudden stound,
That flushes thy cheek's white feature,
In the guise of Love's own wound!
Wert thou but of human fashion,
Like me, with a burning heart,
I'd say, 'twas the tint of passion,
Yet cold as ice thou art.
Like me, with a burning heart,
I'd say, 'twas the tint of passion,
Yet cold as ice thou art.
"I may have no heart within me,
I may be ice-cold quite;
Yet joy would a cheek-flush win me,
As longing doth paint me white.
I may be ice-cold quite;
Yet joy would a cheek-flush win me,
As longing doth paint me white.
"To earth, my fond mother, I'm fleeting,
And death is to lead the way;
I think of his yesternight's greeting,
And blush for delight to-day."
And death is to lead the way;
I think of his yesternight's greeting,
And blush for delight to-day."