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162 .MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Which they, who, have not gems to g?ve, Can ye t bestow; Which seems so intimate a part Of what we love, that of the life, We hold so dear, a part seems still, To live with us. Another's hand the portrait trac'd, 'Tis but a cold, unmoving shade, But Love, alone, was smiling by., When this was given.' No crystal guards the waving threads, Art shall not throw one chilling touch O'er that, which is all nature now, Free as it grew. To press thee to my lips, my heart, Is livelief, sweeter, purer joy, Than all that, now, surrounds my path, Tho' bright, can give. ......... ?Google
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