. A selection of posthumous poems. 1 1 TO THE BUTTERFLY. There s not a floweret, rich or fair, In garden trim, or lonely wild,,Waving its beanty in the air,But thou hast spoiled ! Thou flutterest with painted wings, Through fragrant air, oer beds of flowers,While summer music sweetly ringsThrough fields and bowers. Who would not spend his time like thee,Sipping of earths delightsome sweets,Then resting neath the shady tree,In loves retreats ! But time will throw his darkening cloud,— Already oer thy head it lowers ;Twill cover thee with mantling shroud,And spoil thy flowers ! And so poor man,
. A selection of posthumous poems. 1 1 TO THE BUTTERFLY. There s not a floweret, rich or fair, In garden trim, or lonely wild,,Waving its beanty in the air,But thou hast spoiled ! Thou flutterest with painted wings, Through fragrant air, oer beds of flowers,While summer music sweetly ringsThrough fields and bowers. Who would not spend his time like thee,Sipping of earths delightsome sweets,Then resting neath the shady tree,In loves retreats ! But time will throw his darkening cloud,— Already oer thy head it lowers ;Twill cover thee with mantling shroud,And spoil thy flowers ! And so poor man, m gayest hour Of lifes young days—with fleeting breath,Wings his gay flight from flower to flower,Then sinks in death ! Y 30 t r V yrjjjjfnfaj^^^ ^f^^U-^^^&r^^^^^^^^rj^ A 4?... &. \r THE DAYS OF YOUTH, ARE THE DAYS OF LOVE. The days of youth are the days of love ! Each sense in its freshness gay,While oer the fields of life we rove, In the flowery paths of May. Not a darkening cloud does Heaven obscure,A sunny brightness cheers the day. How witching the scenes that the eyes allureIn the flowery paths of May. O ! then how sweet is the charming maid! Breathing the passion of ardent love :Not a leaf in the bloom begins to fade Through the range of the verdant grove. \lflA3&^^ , 41 THE DAYS OF YOUTH, ARE THE DAYS OV LOVE. Her voice, like the music of distant woods,Swells on the wings of the gentle gale : Her breath is the fragrance of the buds,Or the wild rose in the vale. The young heart beats with ardent joy,The golden moments glide sweetly away • Young Cupid catches the lovers eyeAnd dances his Roundelay. Health blooms on her cheeks with rosy hue,As she spreads her charms to the sunny day And her tints are the loveliest that ever grewIn the flowery paths o
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