  I remember well, in my boyhood's romp, The beautiful flower that grew near the swamp, With its spiral screw Of cerulean hue, While on the marge of its petals grew A fringe, such as art never weaves. I plucked it with zeal, for my heart was aglow, Its color and form, my mother to show, And gladden her eyes With the exquisite prize I had found when autumnal zephyr sighs 'Mong the faded flowers and leaves. Fair emblem of maiden adorned as a bride, The tintings of heaven within you abide; You smilingly stand In bridal robe grand, For a lover who offers an ardent hand, And a heart that never deceives. When others have left us, we cherish the one Who remains firm and faithful till vict'ry's won; Though cold be the storm, The heart is e'er warm For the tried and true, who weave such a charm Round the heart of him who receives. |
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