Voice of Flowers/The Blossom and the Beautiful
THE BLOSSOM AND THE BEAUTIFUL.
To a bright bud, with heart of flame,
The angel of the seasons came,
Took its close-shrouding hood away,
And rais'd its forehead to the day,—
And from its blushing depths updrew
A stream of incense, fresh as dew.
He kiss'd its cheek, and went his way,
And then a form, with temples grey,
Crept to its side, and taught it how
To shrink, to shrivel, and to bow,—
On the cold earth its lip to lay,
And mix with fair things pass'd away.
Thus, to a maid, in beauty's spring,
Love's angel came, on radiant wing,
Nerv'd the light foot to skim the plain,
And made the voice a music strain,—
And wreath'd his cestus round her breast,
Till every eye her power confest.
A ghastly shade, with lifted dart,
Strode to her couch, and chill'd her heart.
Pale grew the brow, which roses fir'd;
And the soft breath in sighs expir'd:
Yet that which bound her to the sky
Escap'd his shaft. It could not die.