Elizabeth Margaret Chandler,
Poetical Works — Story-Telling
“ All border'd daintily with bright-hued flowers; The gray old trees bend over it, and up Among their twisted boughs, an ancient vine Hath strongly wreathed its stem. Below, it bends In wayward convolutions o'er the stream, Offering a couch where thou may'st safely sit, While I recline beside thee on the turf; Will not the vine-leaves shade us pleasantly, While we discourse together? wilt thou sing? ”
