the souvenir.
77
Yet, yet 'tis memory's talisman—a world of vision lies
Within its small transparent cup, as on it rest mine eyes:
Within its small transparent cup, as on it rest mine eyes:
For, towering o'er its tiny form, all bright with early dews,
A pyramid of meadow flowers display their varied hues;
And long as Fiora's fragrant gems the verdant turf adorn,
A bunch of aggregated bloom shall crown it, morn by morn.
Sweet is the task with blossoms fair my souvenir to fill,
And daily feel their spirit voice deep in my bosom thrill;
For, potent as a fairy's wand, the cluster, one by one,
Wakes up a hope, or memory, or duty to be done.
A pyramid of meadow flowers display their varied hues;
And long as Fiora's fragrant gems the verdant turf adorn,
A bunch of aggregated bloom shall crown it, morn by morn.
Sweet is the task with blossoms fair my souvenir to fill,
And daily feel their spirit voice deep in my bosom thrill;
For, potent as a fairy's wand, the cluster, one by one,
Wakes up a hope, or memory, or duty to be done.
The language, or the names of flowers as by the learned they're styled,
I know not—these my monitors are simple, bright, and wild;
No glass above or wall around their warmth or shadow cast,
They drink the rains, and meet the sun, and wrestle with the blast.
The whole wild sisterhood appears in single robe arrayed,
They live in meads, climb rocks and steeps, and nestle in the shade.
I know not—these my monitors are simple, bright, and wild;
No glass above or wall around their warmth or shadow cast,
They drink the rains, and meet the sun, and wrestle with the blast.
The whole wild sisterhood appears in single robe arrayed,
They live in meads, climb rocks and steeps, and nestle in the shade.
