The Eve of St. John.
102
Literary Gazette, 28th December, 1822, Page 825 (cont.)
And like a nest in the chesnut's shade,
As just for love and contentment made,
A little cottage stood, and the tree
Shadowed it over most gracefully;
A white rose grew up beside the door,
The porch with the blossoms was covered o'er;
Methought it was your's—you were standing by:
You welcomed me, and I felt your sigh
Warm on my cheek, and our lips met,—
On mine the touch is thrilling yet!
But, alas! I awakened, and all I can do
Is to tell the sweet dream, my own Love, to you![1]
- ↑ Signature follows next poem
