s BAGATELLES. HE wanton bee that suck'd the rose The love that in my bosom glows And when the rose began to die, I'd like to be the lavender That makes her linen sweet, She'd hardly think of me at all, And shake out lawn and sheet; And yet I'd be the lavender And make her linen sweet. THEOPHILE MARZIALS. I TRAGEDIES. HE reach'd a rosebud from the tree, The worst is over when we die ! For love is like the China-rose That leafs so quickly from the tree ;And life, though all the honey goes, Lasts ever, like the pot pourri. She was only a woman, famish'd for loving, And used to finger his fiddle-strings. Her heart's sweet gamut is cracking and breaking For a look, for a touch,-for such slight things; But he's such a very great musician, Grimacing and fing'ring his fiddle-strings. In the middle of my garden-bed, I took the stem, and shook and shook it, And oh! I said, you sweet large roses, Red as rose can be, Just drop into my bosom here, And die along with me! THEOPHILE MARZIALS. MAJOLICA AND ROCOCO. @HEN I was by Chloe kiss'd, If 'twas life before without her, If angels love above in heaven, Then death must be too oversweet, For this dear love thy lips have given, Has made this life, my love, replete. The rose of her cheek may wane and die, THEOPHILE MARZIALS. BABY. HERE did you come from, baby dear? Where did you get those eyes so blue? What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Where did you get this pearly ear? |