human
Her bodice was a pretty sight to see; Ye who would know its colour,--be a thief Of the rose's muffled bud from off the tree; And for your knowledge, strip it leaf by leaf Spite of your own remorse or Flora's grief, Till ye have come unto its heart's pale hue; The last, last leaf, which is the queen,--the chief Of beautiful dim blooms: ye shall not rue, At sight of that sweet leaf the mischief which ye do.
gpt
Garden of Florence.
human
We gathered wood flowers,--some blue as the vein O'er Hero's eyelid stealing, and some as white, In the clustering grass, as rich Europa's hand Nested amid the curls on Jupiter's forehead, What time he snatched her through the startled waves;-- Some poppies, too, such as in Enna's meadows Forsook their own green homes and parent stalks, To kiss the fingers of Proserpina: And some were small as fairies' eyes, and bright As lovers' tears!