Part 11

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When first, with all a lover’s pride, I wooed and won thee for my bride, I little thought that thou couldst be Estranged as now thou art from me!

Anon.

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Thy confidence is held from me, In fear my love but shows, Like one, art thou, who fears the bee May sting thee, through the rose.

Anon.

PANSY.... Think of me.

The Pansy, or Heart’s-ease, is a beautiful variety of the Violet, differing from it in the diversity of its colours. In fragrance it is inferior to the Violet. Pansy is an old English corruption of the French Pensée.

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“And there are Pansies, that’s for thoughts.”

Shakspeare.

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CHILDHOOD.

Sister, arise, the sun shines bright, The bee is humming in the air, The stream is singing in the light, The May-buds never looked more fair; Blue is the sky, no rain to-day: Get up, it has been light for hours, And we have not begun to play, Nor have we gathered any flowers. Time, who looked on, each accent caught, And said, “He is too young for thought.”

YOUTH.

To-night, beside the garden-gate? Oh, what a while the night is coming! I never saw the sun so late, No heard the bee at this time humming! I thought the flowers an hour ago Had closed their bells and sunk to rest: How slowly flies that hooded crow! How light it is along the west! Said Time, “He yet hath to be taught That I oft move too quick for thought.”

MANHOOD.

What thoughts wouldst thou in me awaken? Not love? for that brings only tears-- Nor friendship? no, I was forsaken! Pleasure I have not known for years: The future I would not foresee, I know too much from what is past, No happiness is there for me, And troubles ever come too fast. Said Time, “No comfort have I brought, The past to him’s one painful thought.”

OLD AGE.

Somehow the flowers seem different now, The Daisies dimmer than of old; There’s fewer blossoms on the bough, The Hawthorn buds look gray and cold; The Pansies wore another dye When I was young--when I was young! There’s not that blue about the sky Which every way in those days hung. There’s nothing now looks as it “ought.” Said Time, “The change is in thy thought.”

Miller.

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I think of thee at morn, when glisten The tearful dew-drops on the grass; I think of thee at eve, and listen, When the low, whispering breezes pass.

E. R. H.

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And thou, so rich in gentle names, appealing To hearts that own our nature’s common lot; Thou, styled by sportive Fancy’s better feeling A Thought, the Heart’s-Ease, and Forget-me-not.

Barton.

DAISY.... Innocence.