Robert Seymour Bridges

Shorter Poems. Book III. 8. “I Praise the Tender Flower”

  I praise the tender flower,
  That on a mournful day
  Bloomed in my garden bower
  And made the winter gay.
Its loveliness contented
My heart tormented.

  I praise the gentle maid
  Whose happy voice and smile
  To confidence betrayed
  My doleful heart awhile:
And gave my spirit deploring
Fresh wings for soaring.

  The maid for very fear
  Of love I durst not tell:
  The rose could never hear,
  Though I bespake her well:
So in my song I bind them
For all to find them.