"Hast thou loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk ? ”
BEECH-TREES, stretching their arms, rugged, yet beautiful,
Here shade meadow and brook ; here the gay bobolink,
High poised over his mate, pours out his melody.
Here, too, under the hill, blooms the wild violet;
Damp nooks hide, near the brook, bellworts that modestly,
Pale-faced, hanging their heads, droop there in silence ; while
South winds, noiseless and soft, bring us the odor of
Birch twigs mingled with fresh buds of the hickory.
Hard by, clinging to rocks, nods the red columbine ;
Close hid, under the leaves, nestle anemones,—
White-robed, airy and frail, tender and delicate.
Ye who, wandering here, seeking the beautiful,
Stoop down, thinking to pluck one of these favorites,
Take heed ! Nymphs may avenge. List to a prodigy ;—
One moon scarcely has waned since I here witnessed it.
One moon scarcely has waned, since, on a holiday,
I came, careless and gay, into this paradise,—
Found here, wrapped in their cloaks made of a leaf, little
White flowers, pure as the snow, modest and innocent,—
Stooped down, eagerly plucked one of the fairest, when
Forth rushed, fresh from the stem broken thus wickedly,
Blood ! — tears, red, as of blood !-shed through my selfishness!