I blush'd when I thought of my eager words--
But why do I blush? and why do I care?
What does it matter to me and the birds,
Or the pretty blossoms or scented air?

'And I,' he replied, 'have my wishes too:
Time teaches the real meaning of things;
And only this moment, looking at you,
I felt that an angel need _not_ have wings.'

We had sauntered on to the garden gate:
He look'd in my eyes ere we turn'd to part:
I walk'd away in a manner sedate,
And with something new just touching my heart.

When the first violet open'd in bloom,
Was it surpris'd at its lovely perfume?
Why does not History tell us, who met
First, the sweet breath of the first violet?
Rather I'd know it than facts that are known--
As when some tyrant ascended some throne,
A battle was fought, a comet display'd,
Coals were discover'd, or steam-engines made.

I can no moment recall, ere I knew
Perfume pertain'd to those blossoms of blue;
Had the first knowledge of sweetness like this
Touch'd me to-day, what perfection of bliss!
Children with all that creation can grant
Scarcely will miss the one pleasure I want,