And by hours of pure unmingled pleasure,
All my dreams were blest,
While I felt her image, as a treasure,
Deep within my breast.
Is it I, she at the table places,
'Mid so many lights?
Yes, to meet intolerable faces,
She her slave invites.
Ah! the Spring's fresh fields no longer cheer me,
Flowers no sweetness bring
Angel, where thou art, all sweets are near me,—
Love, Nature, and Spring.
WITH AN EMBROIDERED RIBBON.
Little flowerets, little leaflets,
Have they woven with fairy hand,
Playful sunny elves of springtide,
Lightly called at my command.
Zephyr, bear it on thy pinions,
Drop it on my darling's dress,
So she'll pass before the mirror
In her double loveliness.
She, of roses still the fairest,
Roses shall around her see;
Give me but one look, my dearest,
And I ask no more of thee.
Feel but what this heart is feeling—
Frankly place thy hand in mine—
Trust me, love, the tie which binds us,
Is no fragile rosy twine.
