Littell's Living Age/Volume 139/Issue 1801/Stanzas

STANZAS.

There is a tender hue that tips the first young leaves of spring;
A trembling beauty in their notes when young birds learn to sing;
A purer look when first on earth the gushing brook appears;
A liquid depth in infant eyes that fades with summer years.
There is a rosy tint at dawn that flies the brighter day;
A sound of innocence and joy when children shout at play;
A laughing breeze at dewy morn that faints with sultry noon;
A silver veil that softest hangs around the maiden moon.
The scent that roses fully blown about their beauty fling
Is sweet, but cannot with the breath of early buds compare;
So doth there bloom a gentle love in life's enchanted spring,
That fills the breast with feelings age can never hope to share.

Temple Bar.Cecil Maxwell Lyte.