LOVE.—A SONNET.
Reading edition
BY J. C. PRINCE.
Love is an odor from the heavenly bowers, Which stirs our senses tenderly, and brings Dreams which are shadows of diviner things Beyond this grosser atmosphere of ours. An oasis of verdure and of flowers, Love smiteth on the Pilgrim's weary way; There fresher air, there sweeter waters play, There purer solace charms the quiet hours. This glorious passion, unalloyed, endowers With moral beauty all who feel its fire; Maid, wife, and offspring, brother, mother, sire, Are names and symbols of its hallowed powers. Love is immortal. From our head may fly Earth's other blessings; Love can never die! Ashton, 5th March.