Читать книгу The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, March 1844 - Various - Страница 2

I’ve read in legends old of men

Who hung up fruits and flowers

Before the altar-shrines of those

They called Superior Powers:

It was, I think, a blessed thought

That things so pure and sweet

Should be esteemed an offering

For gods and angels meet.

I imitate that charming rite

In this our sober day,

And, when I worship, strew sweet flowers

Along my angel’s way:

And, if my heart’s fond prayer be heard,

The offering I renew;

For flowers like books have leaves that speak,

And thoughts of every hue.

They are Love’s paper, pictured o’er

With gentle hopes and fears;

Their blushes are the smiles of Love,

And their soft dew his tears!

Ah! more than poet’s pen can write

Or poet’s tongue reveal

Is hidden by their folded buds

And by their rosy seal.

Mute letters! yet how eloquent!

Expressive silence dwells

In every blossom Heaven creates,

Like sound in ocean shells.

Press to my flowers thy lips, beloved,

And then thy heart will see

Inscribed upon their leaves the words

I dare not breathe to thee!