Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/224



Love! summer flower, how soon thou art decayed! Opening amid a paradise of sweets, Dying with withered leaves and cankered stem! The very memory of thy happiness Departed with thy beauty; breath and bloom Gone, and the trusting heart which thou hadst made So green, so lovely, for thy dwelling-place, Left but a desolation.

one of those sweet spots which seem just made For lovers' meeting, or for minstrel haunt; The maiden's blush would look so beautiful By those white roses, and the poet's dream