And Other Poems.
77
Youth’s blossoms made my heart its bower,
But near it sprang the weed—regret;
I plucked the weed and kept the flower.
And called it—Mem’ry’s Violet.
But near it sprang the weed—regret;
I plucked the weed and kept the flower.
And called it—Mem’ry’s Violet.
There’s rapture in the blithsome time
When love inhales young passion’s breath—
The Poet’s is a joy sublime,
The Christian’s happiness is—death.
But in pure childhood’s thoughtless bliss,
A taste of Heaven and earth we get
More of the other life than this,
Earth’s angels are like Violet.
When love inhales young passion’s breath—
The Poet’s is a joy sublime,
The Christian’s happiness is—death.
But in pure childhood’s thoughtless bliss,
A taste of Heaven and earth we get
More of the other life than this,
Earth’s angels are like Violet.
