Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/142

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That links me with celestial beings—souls Who know nor sin, nor sorrow, but by name. Come, we will sit upon this mossy bank; And though 't were easier to count the stars Than number our perfections, thou wilt strive To execute the task. Behold my lap Is filled with flowers; Flora never owned A richer treasure, and the prize shall be The wreath that Isabel delights in. See What deep bright tints dye these carnations; Are they too proud and gaudy for thy sweet Simplicity? Here is the delicate, The pale pink rose, the gentle hyacinth, Who, ere the sterile wintry winds are hush'd, In pity opes her silken bells to chide The lingering spring; here is the jessamine, Whose silver stars will suit thy dark locks well; The gay jonquil, Titania's ample tent, And violets, where Puck delights to hide,