Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/51



Dismounted—and my steed I tied

With silver curblets to a tree—

press'd the maiden to my side,

And kiss'd her, how transportedly!

And soon the lovely one forgot

Her wounded foot—our mutual kisses,

Till the sun sunk, exhausted not—

And then she whisper'd—"Angel! this is

The vesper hour—'tis time, indeed,

To wend us homewards,"—Then I leapt

With my sweet maiden on my steed,

And bore her to my home.

rose—thou rose so lovely,

Why so early didst thou blow?

Why when blown, so swiftly blighted,

Swiftly blighted—swiftly faded,

Faded—dying—perish'd too:

Long I sat—I sat at evening