Page:National Lyrics.pdf/329

Thou know'st not the sweetness, by antique song
Breathed o'er the names of that flowery throng;
The woodbine, the primrose, the violet dim,
The lily that gleams by the fountain's brim;
These are old words, that have made each grove
A dreaming haunt for romance and love;
Each sunny bank, where faint odours lie,
A place for the gushings of poesy.

Thou know'st not the light wherewith fairy lore
Sprinkles the turf and the daisies o'er;
Enough for thee are the dews that sleep,
Like hidden gems, in the flower-urns deep;
Enough the rich crimson spots that dwell
Midst the gold of the cowslip's perfumed cell;
And the scent, by the blossoming sweet-briars shed,
And the beauty that bows the wood-hyacinth's head.

Oh! happy child, in thy fawn-like glee!
What is remembrance or thought to thee?