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'Twas thus I knelt beside the couch,
By little Florence graced,
Her dimpled hands embraced.
Her lips were cherry red,
O'er every feature spread.
And as I gazed, methought a smile
Played o'er the features fair,
And dreams, all free from care ;
To shield the lovely guest, As through the years of childhood bright,
The little one progress'd.
BY MELVILLE WESTON FULLER.
GAILY the wine in our goblets is gleaming,
Bright on its surface the foam bubbles swim, So the smiles of our joy from each countenance beaming,
Are the bubbles that dance on the cup of life's brim. Oh, what are life's hopes and its high aspirations,
But wishes for things that are not what they seem?
Utopian visions where all is a dream -
And to the breeze boldly its broad folds we fling,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus, our jolly-souled king. Then fill up your glasses, lads, fill up your glasses,
With frolicksome pleasure the moments employ, Since life is a span, each bright hour it passes,
When siezed on its flight, it is ours to enjoy.
Visions of still meadows
Where the sunshine slept,
Endless watches kept; –
Of the paths familiar
To our childish feet,
Were forever sweet.
Visions of the summers
Whose warm bloom is o'er, And of hearts, whose bloom was warmer,
With us now no more.
Happy hearts that bounded
Without thought or care,
Pansies planted there.
Blossoming so meekly,
Little purple flowers,
Than these faded hours !
Full of dreams reflecting
More than rainbow dyes, Full of golden hopes for reaching
Into Paradise !
0, there's not a single beauty
In this life of ours,
By the simplest flowers!