WITH A MOSS-WREATH.
CUSTOM has her forms and uses,
Courtesies, too, all admire;
But cold etiquette abuses,
Ofttimes chills each pure desire.
Courtesies, too, all admire;
But cold etiquette abuses,
Ofttimes chills each pure desire.
Lady, here in greenwood bowers,
While the song-bird sang to me,
Gilding all the summer hours,
With the sweetest melody,—
Here, in arbors by the mountain,
Where the merry streamlets play,
From each shady brook and fountain,
I have gathered by the way
While the song-bird sang to me,
Gilding all the summer hours,
With the sweetest melody,—
Here, in arbors by the mountain,
Where the merry streamlets play,
From each shady brook and fountain,
I have gathered by the way
Mosses exquisite, outvying
Garden gems of varied hue,—
Not like them their richness dying,—
Wove them in a wreath for you;
You, with every grace beguiling
Grief and pain, a vestal where
Poverty and want are calling,
Answering the orphan's prayer.
Garden gems of varied hue,—
Not like them their richness dying,—
Wove them in a wreath for you;
You, with every grace beguiling
Grief and pain, a vestal where
Poverty and want are calling,
Answering the orphan's prayer.
