Dost thou forget the passion of quick tears
That shook her trembling frame, when last we brought
The roses to her couch? Dost thou not know
What sudden longings for the woods and hills,
Where once her free steps moved so buoyantly,
These leaves and odours with strange influence wake
In her fast-kindled soul?
Jessy. Oh! she would pine,
Were the wild scents and glowing hues withheld,
Mother! far more than now her spirit yearns