My red carnation.
89
Thy leaf should point its verdant lance
By castle-walls of old romance,
Where fountains to the soft airs dance,
And glittering peacocks trail;
Or white swans break the sullen sleep
Of some old lake, set dark and deep
Among the trees that o'er it weep
When autumn eves grow pale.
By castle-walls of old romance,
Where fountains to the soft airs dance,
And glittering peacocks trail;
Or white swans break the sullen sleep
Of some old lake, set dark and deep
Among the trees that o'er it weep
When autumn eves grow pale.
The violet hath a fond perfume,
The passion-flower a mystic bloom,
And heather spreads its cloud of gloom
O'er highland mountains bare;
The red rose veils a heart of flame,
And blushes with unconscious shame,
The snow-drop fits its icy name,
Most frigid and most fair.
The passion-flower a mystic bloom,
And heather spreads its cloud of gloom
O'er highland mountains bare;
The red rose veils a heart of flame,
And blushes with unconscious shame,
The snow-drop fits its icy name,
Most frigid and most fair.
But thou art love that pride adorns
The rose's heart without its thorns,
A child of summer's fragrant morns,
Dew-christened by the night.
Ah! cold and fair to others be,
But spread thy glowing heart to me,
And, as thou wert, still ever be
My darling and delight.
The rose's heart without its thorns,
A child of summer's fragrant morns,
Dew-christened by the night.
Ah! cold and fair to others be,
But spread thy glowing heart to me,
And, as thou wert, still ever be
My darling and delight.
