To a Lady, XIX

I learn’d to love ye on the knee Of a fair nurse, in infancy, Who taught me, with a lip as sweet As rose-buds, your perfume to greet, And clap my little hands with joy, When she gave lilies to her boy. Oh little flowers! in boyhood too I held sweet dalliance with you, And in my earliest passion’s hour, Could only call my love a flower. Oh then the starry jessamine, I pull’d the garden walks within, And romp’d around, from plot to plot, Reaping, where I had strewed not, All hues and odours; wild with glee, So boldly mischievous to be; And laughing when they strove to catch, Or failing, begg’d me not to snatch; For I had e’er a lover’s eye, And flowers were lovely company! A very bacchanal of heart; And nature-taught in pleasure’s art, A young Anacreon in my glee, Beneath the rose-bush tossing me, And more,—a very rogue, was I, A pig from Epicurus’ stye; And so my bosom would I fill With lily, pink, and daffodil, And gallop back, my treasures folding, And bold of heart to bear a scolding, My head enwreath’d from ear to ear, And Duke, my spaniel, prancing near.