I MET thee when thy youthful charms Were like the floweret's sweetest bell, That secret hangs, remote from harms, In nature's most secluded dell; Unconscious of life's noon-day glare, Thine early hours had glided on, In sweetness with its gentler air, In brightness with its morning sun. Scarce like a thing of mortal mould I saw the lovely image rise, So clear the spirit through its fold, So kindred to its native skies. Its graceful stem, earth's ruder blast Might seem to break, that o'er it swept,— Yet anguish could not paint the past Like hope the future, while I wept. |