There the pale, sickly cheek wears the hue of the rose;
There death never comes,--Oh, amid its bright bowers,
May we twine for each other a garland of flowers!




THE SICK GIRL'S DREAM.


I heard the other night in dreams
The early robin sing:
The southern winds unlocked the streams,
And warmed the heart of Spring.

The plum-trees wore their bridal dress,
The willows donned their plumes,
And to the zephyr's fond caress
Gave forth their rare perfumes.

Through months of wintry frost and storm--
Yet never harmed by them--
A million germs had nestled warm,
Close to the parent stem.

The happy spring-time broke their rest,
They drank the morning dew,
They clasped the sunbeams to their breast,
And clothed the trees anew.