Part 41

Yes, Love is but a dangerous guest For hearts as young as thine, Where youth’s unshadowed joys should rest, Life’s spring-time fancies shine. Then, sweetest, leave the wildering dream, Till Time has nerved thy heart To brook the fitful cloud and gleam, Which must in love have part.

Mrs. Osgood.

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The Tuberose, with her silvery light, That in the gardens of Malay Is called the mistress of the night, So like a bride, scented and bright, She comes out when the sun’s away.

Moore.

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If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pleasures might my passions move, To live with thee and be thy love. So fading flowers in every field, To winter floods their treasures yield; A honeyed tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

Sir Walter Raleigh.

* * * * *

Instability and change are written On us and all our works. The loveliest things, When full of promise, oftentimes are smitten; And sweetest roses foster hidden stings. The world, if loved too well, doth ever pall, And the poor fool who set his heart thereon Is doomed to see his hope in ruins fall, Its frail foundation undermined and gone.

MacKellar.

DAHLIA.... Elegance and Dignity.

The Dahlia is a native of South America, but is now extensively cultivated in Europe and North America. The shrub grows to a considerable height, and the flowers are large and beautiful. The most common colours are crimson and purple. No more appropriate emblem of elegance and dignity of carriage could have been selected. These qualities strike us at the first view of the Dahlia.

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I loved thee for thy high-born grace, Thy deep and lustrous eye-- For the sweet meaning of thy brow, And for thy bearing high. I loved thee for thy stainless truth, Thy thirst for higher things, For all that to our common lot A better temper brings. And are they not all thine--still thine? Is not thy heart as true? Holds not thy step its noble grace? Thy cheek its dainty hue? And have I not an ear to hear? And a cloudless eye to see-- And a thirst for beautiful human thought, That first was stirred by thee?

Willis.

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Why, a stranger--when he sees her, In the street even smileth stilly, Just as you would at a lily.

Miss Barrett.

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Her grace of motion and of look, the smooth And swimming majesty of step and tread, The symmetry of form and feature, set The soul afloat, even like delicious airs Of flute and harp.

Milman.

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Her glossy hair was clustered o’er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow’s shape was like the aërial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning.

Byron.

* * * * *

Do but look on her eyes! they do light All that love’s world compriseth; Do but look on her hair! it is bright As love’s star, when it riseth! Do but mark,--her forehead’s smoother Than words that soothe her! And from her arched brows such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life, All the gain, all the good, of the element’s strife.

Jonson.