THE
BASQUE GIRL AND HENRI QUATRE.
Love! summer flower, how soon thou art decayed!
Opening amid a paradise of sweets,
Dying with withered leaves and cankered stem!
The very memory of thy happiness
Departed with thy beauty; breath and bloom
Gone, and the trusting heart which thou hadst made
So green, so lovely, for thy dwelling-place,
Left but a desolation.
'Twas one of those sweet spots which seem just made
For lovers' meeting, or for minstrel haunt;
The maiden's blush would look so beautiful
By those white roses, and the poet's dream
