In the rich rose, whose bloom I loved so well,
In the dim brooding violet of the dell,
Set deep that thought;
And let the sunset’s melancholy glow,
And let the spring’s first whisper, faint and low,
With me be fraught!
And Memory answer’d me:—“Wild wish, and vain!
I have no hues the loveliest to detain
In the heart’s core.
The place they held in bosoms all their own,