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THE TIME OF ROSES.

T was not in the winter

Our loving lot was cast;

It was the time of roses

We plucked them as we passed!

That churlish season never frowned

On early lovers yet;

Oh no!-the world was newly crowned With flowers when first we met.

'Twas twilight, and I bade you go, But still you held me fast ;

It was the time of roses

We plucked them as we passed!

What else could peer my glowing cheek,

That tears began to stud?

And when I asked the like of love,

You snatched a damask bud

And oped it to the dainty core,

Still blowing to the last;

It was the time of roses

We plucked them as we passed!

THOMAS HOOD.

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.

HE fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix forever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine

In one another's being mingle-
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother:

And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea-
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

PERCY BYSShe Shelley.

NO JEWELLED BEAUTY IS MY LOVE.

O jewelled beauty is my love,

Yet in her earnest face

There's such a world of tenderness,
She needs no other grace.

Her smiles and voice around my life
In light and music twine,

And dear, oh! very dear to me
Is this sweet love of mine.

Oh joy! to know there's one fond heart
Beats ever true to me;

W

It sets mine leaping like a lyre,

In sweetest melody;
My soul up-springs, a deity!

To hear her voice divine;
And dear, oh! very dear to me
Is this sweet love of mine.

If ever I have sighed for wealth,
'Twas all for her, I trow;
And if I win fame's victor-wreath,
I'll twine it on her brow.
There may be forms more beautiful,
And souls of sunnier shine,

But none, oh! none so dear to me
As this sweet love of mine.

GERALD MASSEY.

THE LOW-BACKED CAR.

HEN first I saw sweet Peggy,

'Twas on a market day:

A low-backed car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;

But when that hay was blooming grass,
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.

As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar
Never asked for the toll,

But just rubbed his owld poll,

And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars

With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death in warlike cars;

While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her bright eye,

That knock men down in the market town

As right and left they fly;

While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far-

For the doctor's art

Cannot cure the heart

That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,

Has strings of ducks and geese, But the scores of hearts she slaughters By far outnumber these; While she among her poultry sits,

Just like a turtle-dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,

Of the blooming god of love! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin',

As she sits in her low-backed car.

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