I loved thee for thy high-born grace, Thy deep and lustrous eye-- For the sweet meaning of thy brow, And for thy bearing high. I loved thee for thy stainless truth, Thy thirst for higher things, For all that to our common lot A better temper brings. And are they not all thine--still thine? Is not thy heart as true? Holds not thy step its noble grace? Thy cheek its dainty hue? And have I not an ear to hear? And a cloudless eye to see-- And a thirst for beautiful human thought, That first was stirred by thee? _Willis._ * * * * * Why, a stranger--when he sees her, In the street even smileth stilly, Just as you would at a lily. _Miss Barrett._ * * * * * Her grace of motion and of look, the smooth And swimming majesty of step and tread, The symmetry of form and feature, set The soul afloat, even like delicious airs Of flute and harp. _Milman._ * * * * * Her glossy hair was clustered o’er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow’s shape was like the aërial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning. _Byron._ * * * * * Do but look on her eyes! they do light All that love’s world compriseth; Do but look on her hair! it is bright As love’s star, when it riseth! Do but mark,--her forehead’s smoother Than words that soothe her! And from her arched brows such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life, All the gain, all the good, of the element’s strife. _Jonson._ CAMELLIA JAPONICA.... _Modest Merit_. The Camellia Japonica is a native of China and Japan. It is a large, evergreen tree. The flowers are large, of the form of a rose of variegated hues--the red prevailing--and without fragrance. It is made the emblem of modest worth, because, as Roscoe observes, “it boasts no fragrance, and conceals no thorn.” * * * * * Let other bards of angels sing, Bright suns without a spot; But thou art no such perfect thing, Rejoice that thou art not. True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved; Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved. _Wordsworth._ * * * * *