Flower of a Southern Garden

Flower of a southern garden newly blowing,
Fair as a lily bending on its stem,
Whose curled and yellow locks, in ringlets flowing,
Need not the lustre of a diadem;
Than all the wealth of Ind, a brighter gem;
Than all the pearls, that bud in Oman's sea,
Than all the corals waving over them,
Purer the living light that circles thee;
And through thy tender cheek's transparency
The vermeil tint of life is lightly flushing,
Or, at the faintest touch of modesty,
In one deep crimson tide is wildly rushing;
Like rose leaves, when the morning's breath is brushing
Away the seeds of pearl the night-cloud shed,
So thy twin opening lips are purely blushing,
Ripe with the softest dew and clearest red;
Purer than crystal in its virgin bed,
Than fountains bubbling in a granite cave,
Than sheeted snow, that wraps a mountain's head,
Or lilies glancing through a stainless wave,
Purer the snow, that mantles o'er thy breast,
And rests upon thy forehead—O! with thee
The hours might flit away so sweetly blest,
That time would melt into eternity.

Go with me to the desert loneliness
Of forest and of mountain—we will share
The joys, that only purify and bless,
And make a paradise of feeling there;
And daily thou shall be more sweet and fair,
And still shalt take a more celestial hue,
Like spirits melting in the midway air,
Till lost and blended in the arch of blue:
Alone, not lonely, we will wander through
Thickets of blooming shrubs and mantling vines,
Happy as bees amid the summer dew,
Or song-birds, when the fresh spring morning shines;
And when departing life shall wing its flight,
And render back the gift that God has given,
Be then to me a seraph form of light,
And bear my fleeting soul away to Heaven.