Is it bliss to think thy charms
Are lauded ever;
That all would rush into thy arms,
And leave thee never?
O! is it not a sweeter thought,
That only ONE thy love has sought,
And in his soul that love is wrought,
So deep it cannot sever?
III.
Is it bliss to hear thy praise
By all repeated;
To dream a round of sunny days,
Then find thee cheated?
O! happier the hidden flower
Within a far secluded bower,
Whither some mind of gentle power
Has long retreated!
IV.
Is it not bliss to hear thy name
From lips so holy?
O! better than the transient flame
That circles folly.
If thou art lovely, thou wilt find
Pure worship from so pure a mind;
And love that will not leave behind
One taint of melancholy.
Written in 1828. J. G. Percival.
[FLORAL ASTROLOGY.]
'Flowrets, that shine like small blue stars in the green firmament of the Earth.'—Carové.