Page:Bijou 1828.pdf/3

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2. Rose of the morning, the blushing and bright, Thou whose whole life is one breath of delight; Beloved of the maiden, the chosen to bind Her dark tresses' wealth from the wild summer wind. Fair tablet, still vowed to the thoughts of the lover, Whose rich leaves with sweet secrets are written all over; Fragrant as blooming—thou lovely rose tree! The tears of the midnight, why hang they on thee?

3. Dark cypress I see thee—thou art my reply, Why the tears of the night on thy comrade trees lie; That laurel it wreathed the red brow of the brave, Yet thy shadow lies black on the warrior's grave. That rose was less bright than the lip which it prest, Yet thy sad branches sweep o'er the maiden's last rest: The brave and the lovely alike they are sleeping, I marvel no more rose and laurel are weeping.

44. [sic] Yet sunbeam of heaven thou fall'st on the tomb— Why pausest thou by such dwelling of doom? Before thee the grove and the garden are spread, Why lingerest thou round the place of the dead?