Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/248

Rh

As there the perfumes of the East Had all their odours shed.

The wild-briar rose, a fragrant cup To hold the morning's tear; The bird's-eye, like a sapphire star; The primrose, pale like fear.

The balls that hang like drifted snow Upon the guelderose; The woodbine's fairy trumpets, where The elf his war-note blows.

On every bough there is a bud, In every bud a flower; But scarcely bud or flower will last Beyond the present hour.