TO CLARA.

 
WHERE the wide spreading thorn
    Diffuses its shade,
Oft, oft with my Clara
    I’ve pleasingly strayed—

Or paused, while she culled,
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    By the moon’s trembling light,
The primrose, or daisy,
    That slumbered in night.

And dear were the pleasures
    Such minutes had given,
10
To brighten our path,
    In a calm summer even. [Page 131]

But, like the soft joys
    That first hallow the heart,
In love’s early hour—
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    Then haste to depart—

So hurried the moments,
    That only could throw
A beam on life’s pathway,
    Long shadowed by woe.
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Yet, I still must remember
    The pleasures that flowed,
And the heaven of love
    Which my Clara bestowed. [Page 132]