TO A. M. L.
html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }ND now accept once more from me,
This careless work of cheerful hours,
The wreath which I have twined for thee,
Of youth's green leaves and spring-time flowers.
And though its sweets may prove but few,
Wilt thou not look with gentle eye
On these wild flowers of varied hue,
These opening buds of poesy?
I know thou wilt, for thou hast seen
The fairest spring to life for thee,
And long thy kindly glance hath been
The meed of praise most dear to me.
Then take the gift,—at least its flowers,
In part the fruit of days gone by,
May wake for thee the thought of hours
Still bright to Memory's pensive eye.
And if from dreams to poets dear,
Too oft fair truth neglected flies,
Oh! still believe, recorded here
Full many a heart-warm feeling lies.
And when thy gaze may chance to dwell
On these light leaves, these youthful strains,
Oh, think of one who loves thee well,
And will, while ever life remains.
Yes; though again we soon must part,
Yet still, whate'er our lot may be,—
Remember, one unchanging heart,
Through shade and sunshine, glows for thee.
E.