TO A FAIR SANTA BARBARAN.
Why blooms the fairest flower ’neath rosy skies,
Where all is bloom and fragrance? why unfold
There, where the nectar that its petals hold
Among the orange groves neglected lies,
And all its perfume all unheeded dies!
And thou, dear maid, with wealth of love untold,
More precious far than mines of gems and gold,
Why linger ’mid these cloyed and listless eyes?
O with thy voice, and smile ineffable,
And eyes so meet for sympathetic tears,
Seek some sad land oppressed by grief and fears,
A bright consoling angel there to dwell;
Fly, ere thy robes are wet with honey dew,
And thy own sweetness cloys thee through and through.