An angel-mind breathed into a mortal, though fallen yet how beautiful!
All the devotion of the heart in all its depth and grandeur.
Behold that pale geranium, pent within the cottage window;
How yearningly it stretcheth to the light its sickly long-stalked leaves,
How it straineth upward to the sun, coveting his sweet influences,
How real a living sacrifice to the god of all its worship!
Such is the soul that loveth; and so the rose-tree of affection
Bendeth its every leaf to look on those dear eyes,
Its every blushing petal basketh in their light,
And all its gladness, all its life, is hanging on their love.