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THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING. 585

What are my white hairs, forsooth,
And the wrinkles on my brow?

I have still the soul of youth,

Try me, merry Muses, now!

I can still with numbers fleet

Fill the world with dancing feet.

No, I am no longer young,

Old am I this many a year;
But my songs will yet be sung.
Though I shall not live to hear.

O my son that is to be,

Sing my songs, and think of me!

THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING.

I met a little maid one day,

All in the bright May weather;
She danced, and brushed the dew away
As lightly as a feather.

She had a ballad in her hand

That she had just been reading,
But was too young to understand
That ditty of a distant land,

"The flower of love-lies-bleeding."

She tripped across the meadow-grass,
To where a brook was flowing,
Across the brook like wind did pass,
Wherever flowers were growing.
Like some bewildered child she flew,
Whom fairies were misleading;

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Whose butterfly," I said, "are you,"

And what sweet thing do you pursue?” "The flower of love-lies-bleeding."

"I've found the wild rose in the hedge, "And found the tiger-lily,

"The blue flag by the water's edge, "The dancing daffodilly,

"King-cups and pansies, every flower

"Except the one I'm needing; "Perhaps it grows in some dark bower,

"And opens at a later hour,

"This flower of love-lies-bleeding."

"I wouldn't look for it," I said,

"For you can do without it;

"There's no such flower." She shook her head,

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"But I have read about it!"

I talked to her of bee and bird,

But she was all unheeding;

Her tender heart was strangely stirred,

She harped on that unhappy word,
"The flower of love-lies-bleeding!"

"My child," I sighed, and dropped a tear,

"I would no longer mind it; "You'll find it some day, never fear,

"For all of us must find it.

"I found it many a year ago,

"With one of gentle breeding; “You and the little lad you know, "I see why you are weeping so— "Your flower of love-lies-bleeding!"

THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH.

There are gains for all our losses,

There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again.

We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood's sterner reign: Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again.

Something beautiful is vanished,
And we sigh for it in vain:
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth, and in the air,

But it never comes again.

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When from his work the sculptor stayed

His hand, and turned to one

Who stood beside him, half in shade,
Said, with a sigh, “'Tis done.

"Thus much is saved from chance and change, That waits for me and thee;

Thus much-how little !-from the range
Of death and destiny.

"Phryne, thy human lips shall pale,
Thy rounded limbs decay,—

Nor love nor prayers can aught avail
To bid thy beauty stay;

"But there thy smiles for centuries
On marble lips shall live,—
For art can grant what love denies,
And fix the fugitive.

"Sad thought! nor age nor death shall fade The youth of this cold bust;

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When this quick brain and hand that made, And thou and I are dust!

'When all our hopes and fears are dead,
And both our hearts are cold,
And love is like a tune that's played,

And life a tale that's told,

This senseless stone, so coldly fair,

That love nor life can warm,

The same enchanting look shall wear,

The same enchanting form.

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“And strangers, when we sleep in peace,

Shall say, not quite unmoved,

So smiled upon Praxiteles

The Phryne whom he loved."

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