Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand Some random bud will meet;

Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find The daisy at thy feet.

'Tis like the birthday of the world,

When earth was born in bloom;

The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume;

There's crimson buds, and white and blue

The very rainbow showers

Have turned to blossoms where they fell,

And sown the earth with flowers.

There's fairy tulips in the east,

The garden of the sun;

The very streams reflect the hues,

And blossom as they run:
While Morn opes like a crimson rose,

Still wet with pearly showers;
Then, lady, leave the silken thread
Thou twinest into flowers!

FLOWERS.

I WILL not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly quean,
Whom, therefore, I will shun ;
The cowslip is a country wench,

The violet is a nun

But I will woo the dainty rose,

The queen of every one.

And clasps her rings on every hand;
The wolfsbane I should dread;
Nor will I dreary rosemarye,
That always mourns the dead;
But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,

And so is no mate for me

And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a blush, She is of such low degree;

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,

And the broom's betrothed to the bee;
But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.

ΤΟ

STILL glides the gentle streamlet on,
With shifting current new and strange;
The water that was here is gone,
But those green shadows never change.

Serene or ruffled by the storm,
On present waves, as on the past,
The mirrored grove retains its form,

The self-same trees their semblance cast.

The hue each fleeting globule wears,
That drop bequeaths it to the next;
One picture still the surface bears,
To illustrate the murmured text.

So, love, however time may flow,
Fresh hours pursuing those that flee,
One constant image still shall show
My tide of life is true to thee.

ΤΟ

I LOVE thee - I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say ;-
It is my vision in the night,

My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,

The blessing when I pray :
I love thee - I love thee!
Is all that I can say.

I love thee - I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee I love thee!

A thousand maids among..

I love thee I love thee!

Thy bright and hazel glance, The mellow lute upon those lips,

Whose tender tones entrance: But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs: That still these words enhance,

I love thee -I love thee!

Whatever be thy chance.

ΤΟ

LET us make a leap, my dear,
In our love of many a year,
And date it very far away,
On a bright clear summer day,
When the heart was like a sun
To itself, and falsehood none;
And the rosy lips a part
Of the very loving heart,
And the shining of the eye
But a sign to know it by ; —
When my faults were all forgiven,
And my life deserved of Heaven.
Dearest, let us reckon so,

And love for all that long ago;
Each absence count a year complete,

And keep a birthday when we meet.

SERENADE.

А¤, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep;
And yet, while I address thee now,

Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. "Tis sweet enough to make me weep,

That tender thought of love and thee, That while the world is hushed so deep, Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! With golden visions for thy dower,

While I this midnight vigil keep,
And bless thee in thy silent bower;
To me 'tis sweeter than the power
Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled,
That I alone, at this still hour,

In patient love outwatch the world

BALLAD.

Ir was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses,

We plucked them as we passed!

That churlish season never frowned
On early lovers yet!

O, no

- the world was newly crowned With flowers when first we met.

Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;

It was the time of roses,

We plucked them as we passed!

SONNETS.

TO THE OCEAN.

SHALL I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love,

That once in rage, with the wild winds at strife,

Thou darest menace my unit of a life,

Sending my clay below, my soul above,