I know not, 1 ask not, what time has in store, The joy of his youth, and the peace of his end. THE WINTER FLOWER. THERE was a pale and shrinking flower, All faintly bright, and dimly fair, It courted the inclement air; And pour'd a dying fragrance round, Then shed its frail leaves on the ground. Even so, I saw misfortune's child, Amid a blast as bleak and wild, And shivering in a stormy hour; No parent on whose faithful breast, Peace shall her silent vigil keep, Till rais'd to bloom a fadeless flower Within heaven's calm and blissful bower. THE FAIRY. I'LL be a fairy, and drink the dew, My music shall be the soft low gales, The glow-worm shall be my gentle light, And a lily's cup my bed, And I'll warm me in the sweet moonlight, And on fallen roses tread. |