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CONSTANCY.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

MY heart's no forest where each passer-by

Can raise an echo to his single cry;

Nor is 't a mirror, where each beauty's face

Glasses itself, and charms me for a while;

Then, passing on, to others leave its place,

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Who in their turn shall win me with a smile.

But like a Venus chiseled by the Greek, -

Beauty enchained within a marble frame, -

Or like the words the May-tide linnets speak,

Always so sweet, and yet for aye the same -

I guard thy form alone, alone thy name.

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