THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING. 585 What are my white hairs, forsooth, I have still the soul of youth, Try me, merry Muses, now! I can still with numbers fleet Fill the world with dancing feet. No, I am no longer young, Old am I this many a year; O my son that is to be, Sing my songs, and think of me! THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING. I met a little maid one day, All in the bright May weather; She had a ballad in her hand That she had just been reading, "The flower of love-lies-bleeding." She tripped across the meadow-grass, Whose butterfly," I said, "are you," And what sweet thing do you pursue?” "The flower of love-lies-bleeding." "I've found the wild rose in the hedge, "And found the tiger-lily, "The blue flag by the water's edge, "The dancing daffodilly, "King-cups and pansies, every flower "Except the one I'm needing; "Perhaps it grows in some dark bower, "And opens at a later hour, "This flower of love-lies-bleeding." "I wouldn't look for it," I said, "For you can do without it; "There's no such flower." She shook her head, "But I have read about it!" I talked to her of bee and bird, But she was all unheeding; Her tender heart was strangely stirred, She harped on that unhappy word, "My child," I sighed, and dropped a tear, "I would no longer mind it; "You'll find it some day, never fear, "For all of us must find it. "I found it many a year ago, "With one of gentle breeding; “You and the little lad you know, "I see why you are weeping so— "Your flower of love-lies-bleeding!" THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood's sterner reign: Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again. Something beautiful is vanished, But it never comes again. When from his work the sculptor stayed His hand, and turned to one Who stood beside him, half in shade, "Thus much is saved from chance and change, That waits for me and thee; Thus much-how little !-from the range "Phryne, thy human lips shall pale, Nor love nor prayers can aught avail "But there thy smiles for centuries "Sad thought! nor age nor death shall fade The youth of this cold bust; When this quick brain and hand that made, And thou and I are dust! 'When all our hopes and fears are dead, And life a tale that's told, This senseless stone, so coldly fair, That love nor life can warm, The same enchanting look shall wear, The same enchanting form. “And strangers, when we sleep in peace, Shall say, not quite unmoved, So smiled upon Praxiteles The Phryne whom he loved." |