He bows to bind you drooping to his breast,
Inhales your spirit from the frost-wing’d gale
And freer breathes of heaven.
Lydia H. Sigourney.
TO THE BRAMBLE FLOWER.
Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!
So, put thou forth thy small white rose;
I love it for his sake.
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow