Blackwood's Magazine/Volume 2/Issue 12/The Roses

THE ROSES.

Inscribed to Miss T.

Two Roses, just culled, and yet glistening with dew,
As fair as a garden e'er graced,
Were twined with the breast-knot and ribband of blue,
That bound Anna's delicate waist.

The one, like the bosom it peered from, was white,
The other, in hue was the same
As the cheek of the fair, when the gossip in spite
Hath blabbed out some favourite name.

I gazed on the roses, but quickly bethought
Of an object more lovely to view:
But still as the fair one my truant eye caught,
To the flowers, as a shield, it withdrew.

But Anna, half frowning, her blushing cheek fanned,
And strove from my glances to fly;
As the sensitive plant shuns the touch of the hand,
Her modesty shrinks from the eye!

Yet quickly relenting, she said, looking kind,
As she drew from her bosom the flowers:
A covetous eye speaks a covetous mind,
So take them—the roses are yours.

Scarce pausing to thank her, I snatched them in haste;
And when to my lips they were pressed,
I could number each blossom her breath had embraced,
So fragrant it seemed by the rest.

You frowned, lovely maid! when I dared to avow,
That I coveted more than you named;
And I fear, while you live, and are peerless as now,
For this fault I shall often be blamed!

But would you reform the offender you chide,
O let him not covet in vain!
The earth holds no treasure he prizes beside,
And he never would covet again!
M'D.

Dumfries.