To the Bellflower.
With drooping bells of clearest blue
Thou didst attract my childish view,
Almost resembling
The azure butterflies that flew
Where on the heath thy blossoms grew
So lightly trembling.
Where feathery fern and golden broom
Increase the sandrock cavern’s gloom
I’ve seen thee tangled,
’Mid tufts of purple heather bloom
By vain Arachne’s treacherous loom
With dewdrops spangled.
’Mid ruins tumbling to decay,
Thy flowers their heavenly hues display,
Still freshly springing,
Where pride and pomp have passed away
On mossy tomb and turret gray,
Like friendship clinging.
When glowworm lamps illume the scene
And silvery daisies dot the green,
Thy flowers revealing,
Perchance to soothe the fairy queen,
With faint sweet tones on night serene
Soft bells are pealing.
But most I love thine azure braid,
When softer flowers are all decayed,
And thou appearest
Stealing beneath the hedgerow shade,
Like joys that linger as they fade,
Whose last are dearest.
Thou art the flower of memory;
The pensive soul recalls in thee
The year’s past pleasures;
And, led by kindred thought, will flee,
Till, back to careless infancy,
The path she measures.
Beneath autumnal breezes bleak,
So faintly fair, so sadly meek,
I’ve seen thee bending,
Pale as the pale blue veins that streak
Consumption’s thin, transparent cheek,
With death hues blending.
Thou shalt be sorrow’s love and mine
The violet and the eglantine
With Spring are banished.
In Summer pinks and roses shine,
But I of thee my wreath will twine,
When these are vanished.
May you like it.