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176 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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When youthful spring around us breathes, Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine. |
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'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
5 r I ^IS the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one !
To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may / follow,
When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away ! |
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