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7
HER MOUTH, WHICH A SMILE.
Her mouth, which a smile,
Devoid of all guile,
Half open to view,
Is the bud of the rose.
In the morning that blows,
Impearl’d with the dew.
More fragrant her breath,
Than the flower-scented heath,
At the dawing of day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily’s perfume,
Or the blossoms of May.
LOVE AMONG THE ROSES.
Young Love flew to the Paphian bower,
And gather’d sweets from many a flower,
From roses and sweet jessamine,
The lily and the eglantine.
Young Love, &c.
The Graces there were culling posies,
The Graces, &c.
And found young Love among the roses.
