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She stood breast high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripened ;—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell;
But long lashes veil'd a light,
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;-
Thus she stood amid the stooks
Praising God with sweetest looks:-

Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean,
Where I reap thou should'st but glean;
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.



That which her slender waste confin'd,
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but wou'd give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heav'ns extreamest spheare,
The pale which held that lovely dear;
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass, and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair:
Give me but what this riban bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.


O Innocence! white-bosom'd purity!
Sweet essence of the heart and its best hopes !
Whose breath is of the heavens—whose path

is peace; Whose presence fills all places with a light; Whose loss makes dark the sun, and poisons




Ask me why I send you here
This firstling of the Infant year;
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose all bepearld with dew?
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are washt with tears :
Ask me why this flow'r doth shew
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break?
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.



If love be holy, if that mystery Of co-united hearts be sacrament; If the unbounded Goodness have infus'd A sacred ardour of a mutual love Into our species; if those amorous joys, Those sweets of life, those comforts even in

death, Spring from a cause above our reason's

reach; If that clear flame deduce its heat from

Heaven, 'Tis, like its cause, eternal; always one, As is th' instiller of divinest love, Unchang’d by time, immortal, maugre death.


Waxe, oh, wake!-the morning star
Hath ceased to grace his glittering car:
Slowly the redd'ning clouds unfold,
And frequent streaks of living gold
Announce the lord of day.

The light breeze wafts perfume on high, Less sweet alone than thy sweet sighThe flower with fresher tints is glowing, The fount with clearer crystal flowing. Oh come! oh come! Hours like this a charm impart That wins the eye but not the heart, While Love is still away!

Wake, oh, wake!-through ev'ry grove Is heard the matin lay of love; - And shall a dearer love be vain To bid thee burst dull slumber's chain, And spurn at slow delay? Though morning glow with tints divine I'd change her brightest blush for thine ! And deem thine eye from sleep awaking, Outshone the sun through darkness breaking. Oh come! oh come! Hours like this are quickly filed, But thy fond smile a joy can shed Which melts not thus away!


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