And Kate, the light butterfly Kate, ever gay. Will choose the first blossom that comes in her way: The cistus will please her a moment, and then Away will she flutter, and settle again. But Julia for me, with her heart in her eyes, curled, She can smile whilst she suffers; 'tis hers for the world. All are lovely, all blossom of heart and of mind; With gentleness might, and with weakness, what grace! Revelations from Heaven in form and on face; Like the bow in the cloud, like the flower on the sod, They ascend and descend in my dreams as from God. THE DYING BOY TO THE SLOE BY E. ELLIOTT. BEFORE thy leaves thou com'st once more, Thy leaves will come as heretofore; A month at least before thy time Why here in winter? No storm lours But blithe larks meet the sunny showers, Sweet violets in the budding grove And where the rose-leaf, ever bold. Hears bees chant hymns to God, The breeze-bow'd palm, moss'd o'er with gold, But thou, pale blossom, thou art come, To tell me that the worm makes room For as the rainbow of the dawn Thy leaves will come! but songful spring Her bells will ring, her bridemaids sing, Oh, might I breathe morn's dewy breath Before my time. |