Vichaara

We wreathed about our darling's head The morning-glory bright; Her little face looked out beneath So full of life and light, So lit as with a sunrise, That we could only say, "She is the morning-glory true, And her poor types are they." She is the morning-glory So full of life and light So lit as with a sunrise...  But not so beautiful they rear  Their airy cups of blue, As turned her sweet eyes to the light, Brimmed with sleep's tender dew; And not so close their tendrils fine Round their supports are thrown, As those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own. We used to think how she had come, Even as comes the flower, The last and perfect added gift To crown Love's morning hour; And how in her was imaged forth The love we could not say, As on the little dewdrops round Shines back the heart of day. Oh those lovely lips The devil in my mind Confiscate which is not mine The joy of sweetness Lies in lost memories Oh those...