Upon the cheeks of her I call my Fate, The loveliest of all the lovely throng. On golden-yellow oft my fancy dwells. ’Tis almost godlike, as it sparkles through The effervescent fizz; and wondrous spells It casts o’er me when coined in dollars, too. Hence, friend, it is I cannot specify What hues particular my joys enhance. I like them all; their popularity At special times depends on circumstance. CONTENTMENT IN NATURE I would not change my joys for those I would Of Emperors and Kings. What has my gentle friend the rose Told them, if aught, do you suppose— The rose that tells me things? What secrets have they had with trees? What romps with grassy spears? What know they of the mysteries
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