PRIVATELY PRINTED VOLUME OF POEMS

FROM A FRIEND.

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.


A modest bud matured mid secret dews,
May yield its bloom beside some hidden path,
Full of sweet perfumes and of rarest hues
While few may note the beauty which it hath--

And yet perchance some maiden, wandering there,
May bend beside it with a loving look,
Or by the streamlet place it in her hair;
And smile above her image in the brook.

A bird with pinions beautiful, and shy,
May sing scarce noted mid the noisier throng;
Or 'scaping earth, take refuge in the sky
And though concealed still charm the air with song.

Yet haply some enamored ear may hark,
And deem it sweetest of the birds that sing;
Or in his heart still praise the unseen lark
That leads his fancies toward its heavenward wing.

A star in some sequestered nook on high,
In its deep niche of blue may calmly shine,
While careless eyes that wander o'er the sky,