II.— THE AMARANTH

Feasts satiate; stars distress with height;

Friendship means well, but misses reach,

And wearies in its best delight,

Vex'd with the vanities of speech;

Too long regarded, roses even

Afflict the mind with fond unrest;

And to converse direct within Heaven

Is oft a labour in the breast;

Whate'er the up-looking soul admires,

Whate'er the senses’ banquet be,

Fatigues at last with vain desires,

Or sickens by satiety;

But truly my delight was more

In her to whom I'm bound for aye

Yesterday than the day before

And more to-day than yesterday.