Mrs. Anna Maria Wells

BELINDA! the young blossom that doth lie

So lightly on thy bosom,—clasp it there;

For on her brow an empress doth not wear,

Nor in her jewelled zone, a gem more fair,

Or that doth deck her more becomingly.

Forget not, then, that deep within thy flower

The germs lie hid of lovelier, holier things:—

Filial affection, that spontaneous springs;

High truth and maiden purity; the power

That comes of gentleness; ay, and more,—

Piety, nourished in the bosom’s core.

These, if so cherished, shall thy blossom bear,

And, with the dews of heavenly love impearled,

It shall adorn thee in another world.