And I shall wake to deathless years:
But oh ye flowers, so sweetly blowing,
How can I leave you but with tears!
XIX.
I learn’d to love ye on the knee
Of a fair nurse, in infancy,
Who taught me, with a lip as sweet
As rose-buds, your perfume to greet,
And clap my little hands with joy,
When she gave lilies to her boy.