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Now Heaven seems one bright rejoicing eye,

And Earth her sleeping vesture flings aside,

And with a blush awakes as does a bride;
And Nature speaks, like thee, in melody.
The forest, sunward, glistens, green and high;

The ground each moment, as some blossom springs, Puts forth, as does thy cheek, a lovelier dye,

And each new morning some new songster brings. And hark! the brooks their rocky prisons break And echo calls on echo to awake,

Like nymph to nymph. The air is rife with wings, Rustling through wood or dripping over lake.

Herb, bud and bird return-but not to me
With song or beauty, since they bring not thee.




I KNOW that thou art beautiful,

In dreams see thy face,
I see its dimples come and go

Like light in frolic grace.
Thy rich eyes steal before mine own

'Neath lashes long and dark, And on thy softly rounded cheek,

The maiden bloom I mark.
And why is this? what wizard spell

Hath touched with prophet power
My fancy thus? a simple thing-

A tone-a word-a flower!
I heard thy voice—so gayly sweet-

I could not choose to guess,
The mouth that breath'd it wreath'd with smiles

Of playful loveliness.
It spoke to one whose tiny lips

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To lisp thy name shall learn,
Though now they can but murmur soft

And answering smiles return.
In gentle words of love they spoke,

And I was very sure,
That all thy looks were eloquent,

With feeling high and pure.

I know that thou art beautiful,

For thou hast told me so,
In a sweet language that I learned

Of Flora long ago.
Thou'st sent me from thy garden bower

The latest rosebud there,
Its blush was eloquent, its leaves

Were rife with meaning rare;
It told of virgin bloom and hope,

And modesty and truth :
Ah! what so fit as fragrant flowers

To emblem sunny youth?
It touched a weary stranger's heart,

That one she had not known,
Could give a kindly thought to her

In sadness and alone;
It minded her of days gone by,

When Love's untiring hand
Wove blossoms for her youthful brow,



In many a graceful band.
Ah! far away from home and friends,

That heart still warmly beats
With something of its olden joy,

When such as thou she meets !
And oft in future dreams shall rise

The eye and glossy curl,
The soft rose-bloom and dimple

Of the sweet-voiced English girl !



YES! still I love thee :-Time, who sets

His signet on my brow,
And dims my sunken eye, forgets

The heart he could not bow ;Where love, that cannot perish, grows For one, alas ! that little knows

How love may sometimes last; Like sunshine wasting in the skies,

When clouds are overcast.

The dew-drop hanging o'er the rose,

Within its robe of light,
Can never touch a leaf that blows,

Though seeming to the sight;
And yet it still will linger there,
Like hopeless love without despair,-

A snow-drop in the sun!
A moment finely exquisite,

Alas! but only one.

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