WILD ROSE. O call My Lady where she stood "A Wild-Rose blossom of the wood," For who by such a slight would reach My Love, whose store of household sense And arms her goodness with defence: The sweet reliance of whose gaze And wins that trust the trust repays : Whose stately figure's varying grace For such a halo round it glows, Can flowers that breathe one little day And wavering to the earth decay, Have any claim to rank with her, Her worth through spheral joys shall move And nothing lives but perfect Love? THOMAS WOOLNER. DAISY'S DIMPLES. I. ITTLE dimples so sweet and soft, The mark of Cupid's dainty hand, II. Laughing dimples of tender love, Sinile on my darling's cheek; III. Fain would I hide my kisses there At morning's rosy light, To come and seek them back again In silver hush of night. J. ASHBY-STERRY. GERTRUDE'S GLOVE. LIPS of a kid-skin deftly sewn, A scent as through her garden blown, A glove but lately dofft, for look- Warm from her touch! What gave the glow? It clasp'd the hand, so pure, so sleek, Your fingers four, you little thumb ! I'd clasp, and kiss,-I'd keep her-go! FREDERICK LOCKER. ANGELICA. AIR is my Love, so fair, I shudder with the sense Of what a light the world would lose Sweet is my Love, so sweet, The leaves that, fold on fold,Swathe up the odours of the rose, Less sweetness hold. True is my Love, so true, Dear is my Love, so dear, My eyes with tears of rapture swim, |