To a Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses
As late I rambled in the happy fields,What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dewFrom his lush clover covert;—when anewAdventurous knights take up their dinted shields;I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threwIts sweets upon the summer: graceful it grewAs is the wand that Queen Titania wields.And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,I thought the garden-rose it far excelled;But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:Soft voices had they, that with tender pleaWhispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled.
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