Oldalképek
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What delight in some sweet spot
Combining love with garden plot,
At once to cultivate one's flowers
And one's epistolary powers |
Growing one's own choice words and fancies
In orange tubs, and beds of pansies;
One's sighs, and passionate declarations,
In odorous rhetoric of carnations;
Seeing how far one's stocks will reach,
Taking due care one's flowers of speech
To guard from blight as well as bathos,
And watering every day one's pathos
A letter comes, just gathered. We
Dote on its tender brilliancy,
Inhale its delicate expressions
Of balm and pea, and its confessions
Made with as sweet a maiden's blush
As ever morn bedeved on bush :
('T is in reply to one of ours,
Made of the most convincing flowers.)

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Samiasa I call thee, I await thee, and I love thee; Many may worship thee, that will I not; If that thy spirit down to mine may move thee, Descend and share my lot Though I be formed of clay, And thou of beams More bright than those of day On Eden's streams, Thine immortality cannot repay With love more warm than mine My love. There is a ray In me, which, though forbidden yet to shine, I feel was lighted at thy God's and thine. It may be hidden long : death and decay Our mother Eve bequeathed us, but my heart Defies it; though this life must pass away, Is that a cause for thee and me to part Thou art immortal; so am I : I feel — I feel my immortality o’ersweep All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, and peal, Like the eternal thunders of the deep,

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