TO..........

In vain, sweet Maid! for me you bring

The first-blown blossoms of the spring;

My tearful cheek you wipe in vain,

And bid its pale rose bloom again.

In vain! unconscious, did I say?

Oh! you alone these tears can stay:

Alone, the pale rose can renew,

Whose sunshine is a smile for you.

Yet not in friendship's smile it lives;

Too cold the gifts that friendship gives:

The beam that warms a winter's day,

Plays coldly in the lap of may.

You bid my sad heart cease to swell;

But will you, if its tale I tell,

Nor turn away, nor frown the while,

But smile, as you were wont to smile?

Then bring me not the blossoms young,

That erst on Flora's forehead hung;

But round thy radiant temples twine,

The flowers whose flaunting mocks at mine.

Give me — nor pinks, nor pansies gay,

Nor violets, fading fast away,

Nor myrtle, rue, nor rosemary,

But give, oh give, thyself to me!