"In the East, where ladies are not taught to write, flowers convey the sentiments which letters do with us."
I.
WITH IN a lonely bower
Lingers a maiden fair,
Her eyes of Eastern lustre.
Of raven black her hair.
II.
The snow-white hand a rosebud
To scarlet lips do press;
Methinks I know the secret
Of that sweet maid's caress.
A. D. H.
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