To the Same

I have been loved by no one as by thee, In thy dear artlessness, sweet flower that grows not In the full hotbed of society, Where buds, once blown, in dewy fragrance close not, Beneath the influence of the gentle moon; But fling away their odours and their life, Flaunting and withering in the blaze of June! Never hast thou with Nature been at strife, But as a sister has she led thee on— Flinging her white arms joyously around thee, Circling, unseen, thy form with beauty's zone, And burying thee in blossoms, till I found thee! Nor did she quit thee then, but, smiling, saw Thy heart, by love subdued, obey her mightiest law.