A CHARADE
I love my first on a summer eve,
Or a breezy autumn morning;
My soul bounds with it, and my heart
Laughs out, all trouble scorning.
I love it by the wild sea-beach,
When fades the sunset splendor,
And the new moon, like a fairy boat,
Sails through the sky-deeps tender.
My second brings up visions sad
Of life's most fearful duty,—
Of green mounds hiding from our sight
Dear forms of youth and beauty.
My third, if speaking slowly, clouds
The brightest day with sadness;
If quickly, thrills the air, and wakes
The gloomiest morn to gladness.
It calls, and through the churchyard gate
A funeral is creeping;
It calls, and down the old church aisle
A bridal train is sweeping!
My whole grew in a garden old,
Round which my heart still lingers;
Its azure petals formed a cup
Fit for a fairy's fingers.
Canterbury-bell
THE END.