Page:Poems Denver.djvu/95

If the breath of each aromatic gale,
Were but the theme of a poet's tale;
If the beauty that dwelt upon thy plains,
Were found alone in his music-strains,
And the glory that like to heaven did seem,
Were nothing else than an idle dream!

I have thought of thee in the morning-light,
I have dreamed of thee in the silent night;
And as I stood beneath thy skies,
And gazed in the depths of loving eyes,
My heart was filled with a strange perfume,
When I saw thy flowers around me bloom;—
Those tell-tale flowers, that ever speak
Of the heart, like a blush on woman's cheek!
They could not live in a colder clime,
They would perish away with the things of time;
And leave not even a leaf to tell,
The language they used to speak so well!

And I saw thy fountains around me rise,
Pure, like the light of thy children's eyes—
And methought that the spirit of truth therein
Had dwelt since the world had sunk in sin;
And that lingering long by the sacred shrine,
Thy children had drunk of the draught divine:
I thought, could the fountain of youth be found.
It was here alone, on this peaceful ground,
Where the heart and the eyes are always young,
And innocence ever upon the tongue;