Scattering round her incense sweet.
* * * *
No door has my house,
On the dance that they fearfully lead.But the dancers at length disappear one by one,And their shrouds, ere they vanish, they carefully don,
And uncles, brothers, and the rest.
All regal crowns excelling;A light and ever-shifting tent,
Incessantly he chatters there,
And gladness.Go, tell her straight, and often too,The boy's mute hopes and wishes true.
His wallet from him has been torn;Our hapless friend has been undress'd,
I PICKED a rustic nosegay lately,And bore it homewards, musing greatly;When, heated by my hand, I foundThe heads all drooping tow'rd the ground.I plac'd them in a well-cool'd glass,And what a wonder came to passThe heads soon raised themselves once more.The stalks were blooming as before,And all were in as good a caseAs when they left their native place.
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