Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 35 1832.pdf/3

 Alabaster clouds repose With the sunshine on their snows? Thither was thy heart's love turning, Like a censer ever burning, Till the purple heavens in thee Set their smile, Anemone!

Or can those warm tints be caught Each from some quick glow of Thought? So much of bright Soul there seems In thy bendings and thy gleams;— So much thy sweet life resembles That which feels, and weeps, and trembles; While thy being I behold To each loving breath unfold; Or, like woman's willowy form, Shrink before the gathering storm; I could deem thee spirit-filled, As a reed by music thrilled! I could ask a Voice from thee, Delicate Anemone!

Flower! thou seem'st not born to die, With thy radiant purity; But to melt in air away, Mingling with the soft spring-day, When the crystal heavens are still, And faint azure veils each hill, And the lime-leaf doth not move, Save to songs that stir the grove; And all earth is like one scene, Glorified in waves serene!— Then thy vanishing should be, Pure and meek Anemone!

Flower! the laurel still may shed Brightness round the victor's head; And the rose in beauty's hair Still its festal glory wear; And the willow-leaves droop o'er Brows, which love sustains no more: But, by living rays refined, Thou, the trembler of the wind, Thou, the spiritual flower, Sentient of each breeze and shower, Thou, rejoicing in the skies, And transpierced with all their dyes, Breathing vase, with light o'erflowing, Gem-like, to thy centre glowing, Thou the poet's type shall be, Flower of scent, Anemone! F. H.