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In the middle of my garden-bed,
There stands a tall rose-tree;

I took the stem, and shook and shook it,
Thick the flowers kept covering me.

And oh! I said, you sweet large roses,
Red as rose can be,

Just drop into my bosom here,

And die along with me!

THEOPHILE MARZIALS.

MAJOLICA AND ROCOCO.

HEN I was by Chloe kiss'd,
Ceased or 'gan I to exist?
If 'twas life before without her,
What is this to be about her?

If angels love above in heaven,

Then death must be too oversweet, For this dear love thy lips have given, Has made this life, my love, replete.

The rose of her cheek may wane and die,
Her hair's gold fibre dull and decay;
But love has a colour not fused to fly,
In the fabric that never shall wear away.

THEOPHILE MARZIALS.

BABY.

HERE did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get those eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear ?

I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
I saw something better than any one knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into bonds and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs' wings.

How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here.

GEORGE MACDONALD.

TO A CHILD.

F by any device or knowledge

The rosebud its beauty could know,
It would stay a rosebud for ever,
Nor into its fulness grow.

And if thou could'st know thy own sweetness,
O little one, perfect and sweet,
Thou would'st be a child for ever,
Completer whilst incomplete.

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

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