The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove,
Is fair--but oh, how fair,
If Pity's hand had stolen from Love
One leaf, to mingle there!
If every rose with gold were tied,
Did gems for dewdrops fall,
One faded leaf where Love had sighed
Were sweetly worth them all.
The wreath you wove,--the wreath you wove
Our emblem well may be;
Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love
Must keep its tears for me.
THE SALE OF LOVES.
I dreamt that, in the Paphian groves,
My nets by moonlight laying,
I caught a flight of wanton Loves,
Among the rose-beds playing.
Some just had left their silvery shell,
While some were full in feather;
So pretty a lot of Loves to sell,
Were never yet strung together.
Come buy my Loves,
Come buy my Loves,
Ye dames and rose-lipped misses!--
They're new and bright,
The cost is light,
For the coin of this isle is kisses.
First Cloris came, with looks sedate.
The coin on her lips was ready;
"I buy," quoth she, "my Love by weight,
"Full grown, if you please, and steady."
"Let mine be light," said Fanny, "pray--
"Such lasting toys undo one;
"A light little Love that will last to-day,--
"To-morrow I'll sport a new one."
Come buy my Loves,
Come buy my Loves,
Ye dames and rose-lipped misses!--
There's some will keep,
Some light and cheap
At from ten to twenty kisses.
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