Harry
I had not happened just there and just then

To smile at a flower beneath the skies,

Should I never have lov'd the first of men?

Had he seen me first in a festal hour,

Or riding, or driving, or by the sea,

And not with a smile for the passion-flower,

Would he never, never have cared for me?

Who planted the root, and its climbing plann'd?

Who water'd below or cherish'd above?

Is it the work of a gardener's hand

That causes my Harry and me to love?

[pg 7]

Had that gardener never been born or hir'd,

Or done this one insignificant thing;

Had the passion-flower died;—my heart is tir'd

With the troublesome sudden thoughts that spring;

And mine eyes are filling with foolish tears,

And the pang that I feel is sharp and keen,

As I see the empty unhappy years,

And I think of all that might not have been.


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