Chapter XIX

I learn’d to love ye on the knee
Of a fair nurse, in infancy,
Who taught me, with a lip as sweet
As rose-buds, your perfume to greet,
And clap my little hands with joy,
When she gave lilies to her boy.
Oh little flowers! in boyhood too
I held sweet dalliance with you,
And in my earliest passion’s hour,
Could only call my love a flower.
Oh then the starry jessamine,
I pull’d the garden walks within,
And romp’d around, from plot to plot,
Reaping, where I had strewed not,
All hues and odours; wild with glee,
So boldly mischievous to be;
And laughing when they strove to catch,
Or failing, begg’d me not to snatch;
For I had e’er a lover’s eye,
And flowers were lovely company!
A very bacchanal of heart;
And nature-taught in pleasure’s art,
A young Anacreon in my glee,
Beneath the rose-bush tossing me,
And more,—a very rogue, was I,
A pig from Epicurus’ stye;
And so my bosom would I fill
With lily, pink, and daffodil,
And gallop back, my treasures folding,
And bold of heart to bear a scolding,
My head enwreath’d from ear to ear,
And Duke, my spaniel, prancing near.