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THE BLUE ANEMONE.
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Till the purple Heavens in thee
Set their smile, Anemone?
Or can those warm tints be caught
Each from some quick glow of thought?
So much of bright soul there seems
In thy bendings and thy gleams,
So much thy sweet life resembles
That which feels, and weeps, and trembles;
I could deem thee spirit-filled,
As a reed by music thrilled,
When thy Being I behold
To each loving breath unfold,
Or like woman's willowy form,
Shrink before the gathering storm;
I could ask a voice from thee
Delicate Anemone!
Flower! thou seem'st not born to die,
With thy radiant purity,
