TO ****, WITH FLOWERS.
47
Tell him in laurel wreaths
No perfume e’er is found,
And that upon a crown of thorns
Those leaves are ever bound.
No perfume e’er is found,
And that upon a crown of thorns
Those leaves are ever bound.
Thoughts fresh as your own hues
Bear ye to that abode,—
Speak of the sunshine and the sky,
Of Nature and of God.
Bear ye to that abode,—
Speak of the sunshine and the sky,
Of Nature and of God.
