Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Souvenir 1833.pdf/3



I. for the myrtle, and not for the vine, Whose grape, like a gem, is the sunbeam's shrine; And not for the deep blue heaven, that showers Joy on thy spirit, like light on the flowers; And not for the breath of the citron-trees, Fair Peasant! I call thee not blest for these.

II. Not for the beauty spread over thy brow, Though round thee a gleam, as of spring, it throw; And not for the lustre that laughs from thine eye, Like a dark stream's flash to the summer sky, Though the south in its riches nought lovelier sees— Fair Peasant! I call thee not blest for these!

III. But for these breathing and loving things— For the boy's fond arm that around thee clings; For the sunny cheek on thy lap that glows, In the peace of a trusting child's repose; For the hearts whose home is thy gentle breast— Oh! richly I call thee, and deeply blest!