Page:Flowers of Loveliness.pdf/29



Faint are the colours in that darkened room; When the wind lifts the curtain's crimson fold, Amid a rich obscurity of gloom Are seen the rainbow gems, the carved gold.

And on a table near, a little flower Droops in a vase as white as sculptured snow; It was her favourite in her childhood's bower, The Marvel of Peru;—she loves it now.

The perfumed atmosphere around is filled With many odors—summer's scented spoil: The fragrant waters from sweet woods distilled, Spices, and cinnamon, and precious oil.

Oh, life of pleasant languor and repose! Like some frail plant that languishes at noon; The dark-eyed beauty need not envy those To whom such charmed lot were earth's best boon.

What is the world we live in but a strife Of vanity and envy, hate and fear? That what we so miscall our social life Is one great error—sullen, vast and drear.

A happier lot is Woman’s thus confined To one deep love, and one sweet solitude; Oh! what availeth to awake the mind, Whose higher struggles are so soon subdued?