Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/187

176

The garden it has many a flower, But only one for thee— The early graced of Grecian song, The fragrant myrtle tree; For it doth speak of happy love, The delicate, the true. If its pearl buds are fair like thee, They seem as fragile too; Likeness, not omens, for love's power Will watch his own most precious flower.

Thou art not of that wilder race Upon the mountain side, Able alike the summer sun And winter blast to bide;