Was ever one slighted like this?"
Sighed the Rose as it stood by my side.

My heart ever open to grief,
To comfort the fair one I turned;
"Of fickle ones thou art the chief!"
Frowned the Violet, and pouted and mourned.

Then, to end all disputes, I entwined
The love-stricken blossoms in one;
But that instant their beauty declined,
And I wept for the deed I had done!

[Decoration]

J. ASHBY STERRY.

_REGRETS._

I.

O for the look of those pure grey eyes--
Seeming to plead and speak--
The parted lips and the deep-drawn sighs,
The blush on the kissen cheek!

II.

O for the tangle of soft brown hair,
Lazily blown by the breeze;
The fleeting hours unshadowed by care,
Shaded by tremulous trees!

III.

O for the dream of those sunny days,
With their bright unbroken spell,
And the thrilling sweet untutored praise--
From the lips once loved so well!

IV.

O for the feeling of days agone,
The simple faith and the truth,
The spring of time and life's rosy dawn--
O for the love and the youth!

[Decoration]

_DAISY'S DIMPLES._

I.

Little dimples so sweet and soft,
Love the cheek of my love:
The mark of Cupid's dainty hand,
Before he wore a glove.

II.

Laughing dimples of tender love
Smile on my darling's cheek;
Sweet hallowed spots where kisses lurk,
And play at hide and seek.

III.

Fain would I hide my kisses there
At morning's rosy light,
To come and seek them back again
In silver hush of night.

_A LOVER'S LULLABY._

I.

Mirror your sweet eyes in mine, love,
See how they glitter and shine!
Quick fly such moments divine, love,
Link your lithe fingers in mine!

II.

Lay your soft cheek against mine, love,
Pillow your head on my breast;
While your brown locks I entwine, love,
Pout your red lips when they 're prest!

III.

Mirror your fate, then, in mine, love;
Sorrow and sighing resign:
Life is too short to repine, love,
Link your fair future in mine!

[Decoration]

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

1837.

_A MATCH._

If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Green pleasure or grey grief;
If love were what the rose is,
And I were lik