I send our youngest rosebud; and
'Twill wither ere it kiss thy hand.

Also, from our cedar tree,
A plume to outlive chivalry!

So love has knit in one small nest,
The toughest and the tenderest!

Oh! love—love well, but only once! for never shall the dream
Of youthful hope return again on life's dark rolling stream—
No love can match the early one which young affection nurs'd;
Oh, no—the one you loved the best, is she you loved the first.

Once lost—that gladsome vision past—a fairer form may rise,
And eyes whose lustre mocks the light of starry southern skies,
But vainly seek you to enshrine the charmer in your breast,
For still the one you loved the first, is she you loved the best.

How are they waned and faded from our hearts,
The old companions of our early days!
Of all the many loved, which name imparts
Regret when blamed, or rapture at its praise?
What are their several fates, by Heaven decreed,
They of the jocund heart, and careless brow?
Alas! we scarcely know and scarcely heed,
Where, in this world of sighs, they wander now.

See, how with cold faint smile, and courtly nod,
They pass, whom wealth and revelry divide —
Who walked together to the house of God,
Read from one book, and rested side by side;

All praise to Him of Nazareth,
The Holy One who came,
For love of man, to die a death
Of agony and shame.

Dark was the grave; but since he lay
Within its dreary cell,
The beams of heaven's eternal day
Upon its threshold dwell.

He grasped the iron veil, he drew
Its gloomy folds aside,
And opened, to his followers' view,
The glorious world they hide.

In tender memory of his grave
The mystic bread we take,
And muse upon the life he gave
So freely for our sake.

A boundless love he bore mankind;

Ancient of Days! except thou deign
Upon the finished task to smile,
The workman's hand hath toiled in vain,
To hew the rock and rear the pile.

Oh, let thy peace, the peace that tames
The wayward heart, inhabit here,
That quenches passion's fiercest flames,
And thaws the deadly frost of fear.

And send thy love, the love that bears
Meekly with hate, and scorn, and wrong,
And loads itself with generous cares,
And toils, and hopes, and watches long.

Here may bold tongues thy truth proclaim,

Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day,
Sat where a river rolled away,
With calm sad brows and raven hair,
And one was pale and both were fair.

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown,
Bring forest-blooms of name unknown;
Bring budding sprays from wood and wild,
To strew the bier of Love, the child.

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep,
His eyes, that death may seem like sleep,
And fold his hands in sign of rest,
His waxen hands, across his breast.

And make his grave where violets hide,

Now far from thee, I yearn
To greet the day
When in a single urn
This wall of clay
Round thee and me so clean compounded is
Our very specks of dust each other kiss:

While we immortal grown,
Unhampered by
This shroud of flesh and bone,
Shall dance the sky,
And soul to happy soul will sing and say
All that's too dark for night, too bright for day.

Thy child am I, dear love,
Thy love-child true:
Born of thy love for me,
And my love too:
Nurtured within thy breast, child of thy care —
Mother and love, I seek thee everywhere.

But thou art far away,
Hidden thy face,
Must I then walk alway
In thy disgrace?
Because I grew, grew then my heart from thee? —
Mother and love, the heart cries out in me.

Ah! couldst thou not endure

Wean your love, O wean your love!
Teach him to run alone;
Or you will find your sucking dove
Into a vulture grown.

Let in the dawn,
Draw wide the curtain now,
See, like a trembling fawn,
The pallid moon before day's archer flies.
O Love, before this beauty let us bow:
Such adoration best befits
The souls that love together knits;
Then let us like dew-spangled buds arise
And with the helpful hours, unfold our enterprise.

And what this is,
Content are we to know
Souls unordained by bliss
Would mock, as aught they ne'er may comprehend,
And such as to their loveless labours go
Like stubborn mules that need a goad