A BRIDE.
155
Faultless all, in her beauteous prime,—
Stately, regal, if so you will,—
Yet were she mine, I could wish, some time,
Her lip to quiver, her hand to thrill.
Stately, regal, if so you will,—
Yet were she mine, I could wish, some time,
Her lip to quiver, her hand to thrill.
She is perfection, and nothing less,—
Beauty's perfection, and nothing more;
Looking on her, I only guess
What your future may have in store.
Beauty's perfection, and nothing more;
Looking on her, I only guess
What your future may have in store.
Garlands of flowers from lands abroad,
Marvels of artificial bloom,—
Blossoms which never were in the bud,
Flaunt their falsehood in yonder room.
Marvels of artificial bloom,—
Blossoms which never were in the bud,
Flaunt their falsehood in yonder room.
Petals of muslin and silken woof,
Leaves of paper and stems of wire,—
Flowers more brilliant and winter-proof
Than ever sprung from our earthly mire.
Leaves of paper and stems of wire,—
Flowers more brilliant and winter-proof
Than ever sprung from our earthly mire.
Won by their flattering falsity,
(Mark the warning my words disclose,)
I found, this morning, a famished bee
Dead, in the heart of a cambric rose!
(Mark the warning my words disclose,)
I found, this morning, a famished bee
Dead, in the heart of a cambric rose!
