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278 SCHOOL OF YOUNG LADIES.
And yet 'twere safer there to bind That plant of changeless dye,
Whose root is in the lowly mind, Whose blossom in the sky.
But who o'er beauty's form can hang,
Nor think how future years May bring stern sorrow's speechless pang
Or, disappointment's tears, Unceasing toil, unpitied care,
Cold treachery's serpent moan Ills that the tender heart must bear,
Unanswering and alone.
Yet, as the frail and fragrant flower,
Crushed by the sweeping blast, Doth even in death an essence pour,
The sweetest, and the last, So woman's deep, enduring love,
Which nothing can appal, Her steadfast faith, that looks above
For rest, can conquer all.
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