Tossed high by kindly breezes: lean, and hark,
And you shall know how morning glads her lark!
The timid Dawn, herself a little child
Casts up shy eyes in loving worship—dear,
Is it not yet enough? the Spring is here
And would you weep for Winter's tempest wild
Sigh not for love, the ways of love are dark!
[AMBITION AND LOVE]
Sweet, in the golden morning of my days,
With young tempestuous joy I reared my head