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What delight in some sweet spot
all lily and rose,
Ah! why should hapless human kind
Be punished out of season?. Pray listen, and perhaps you 'll find
My rhyme may give the reason.
Death, strolling out one summer's day,
Met Cupid, with his sparrows ; And, bantering in a merry way,
Proposed a change of arrows. “Agreed !” quoth Cupid. “I foresee
The queerest game of errors ;
And I'll be King of Terrors ! ”
And so 't was done ; — alas, the day
That multiplied their arts ! -
A portion of his darts.
Despite the gods above,
JOHN GODFREY SAXE.
THE BIRTH OF PORTRAITURE.
LOVE-LETTERS MADE OF FLOWERS.
As once a Grecian maiden wove
Her garland mid the summer bowers, There stood a youth, with eyes of love,
To watch her while she wreathed the flowers. The youth was skilled in painting's art,
But ne'er had studied woman's brow,
As exquisite invention this, Worthy of Love's most honeyed kiss, This art of writing billet-doux In buds, and odors, and bright hues ! In saying all one feels and thinks In clever daffodils and pinks ; In puns of tulips ; and in phrases, Charming for their truth, of daisies ; l'ttering, as well as silence may, The sweetest words the sweetest way. How fit too for the lady's bosom ! The place where billet-doux repose 'em.
His hand had pictured many a rose,
And sketched the rays that lit the brook ; But what were these, or what were those,
To woman's blush, to woman's look ? “Oh ! if such magic power there be,
This, this,” he cried, “is all my prayer,