Page:National Lyrics.pdf/329

Rh

Thou know'st not the sweetness, by antique song Breathed o'er the names of that flowery throng; The woodbine, the primrose, the violet dim, The lily that gleams by the fountain's brim; These are old words, that have made each grove A dreaming haunt for romance and love; Each sunny bank, where faint odours lie, A place for the gushings of poesy.

Thou know'st not the light wherewith fairy lore Sprinkles the turf and the daisies o'er; Enough for thee are the dews that sleep, Like hidden gems, in the flower-urns deep; Enough the rich crimson spots that dwell Midst the gold of the cowslip's perfumed cell; And the scent, by the blossoming sweet-briars shed, And the beauty that bows the wood-hyacinth's head.

Oh! happy child, in thy fawn-like glee! What is remembrance or thought to thee?