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-----the blush is formed--and flies-- Nor owns reflection's calm control; It comes, it deepens--fades and dies, A gush of feeling from the soul. - [Blushes] The flush of youth soon passes from the face, The spells of fancy from the mind depart; The form may lose its symmetry, its grace, But time can claim no victory o'er the heart. - [Heart] Fair gift of Friendship! and her ever bright And faultless image! welcome now thou art, In thy pure loveliness--thy robes of white, Speaking a moral to the feeling heart; Unscattered by heats--by wintry blasts unmoved-- Thy strength thus tested--and thy charms improved. - To a White Chrysanthemum [Chrysanthemums]
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