Letitia Elizabeth Landon

“ When she was called the rosebud of our village.
There was a blush, half modesty, half health,
Upon her cheek, fresh as the summer morn
With which she rose. A cloud of chesnut curls,
Like twilight, darkened o’er her blue-veined brow;
And through their hazel curtains, eyes, whose light
Was like the violet’s, when April skies
Have given their own pure colour to the leaves,
Shone sweet and silent, as the twilight star.
And she was happy—innocence and hope
Make the young heart a paradise for love. ”

“ Like a green fan spread the horse-chesnut’s leaves,
A shower of yellow bloom was on the elm,
The daisies shone like silver, and the boughs
Were covered with their blossoms, and the sky
Was like an augury of hope, so clear,
So beautifully blue. Love! oh young love!
Why hast thou not security? Thou art
Like a bright river, on whose course the weeds
Are thick and heavy; briers are on its banks,
And jagged stones and rocks are mid its waves.
Conscious of its own beauty, it will rush
Over its many obstacles, and pant
For some green valley, as its quiet home. ”

“ Alas! either it rushes with a desperate leap
Over its barriers, foaming passionate,
But prisoned still; or winding languidly,
Becomes dark, like oblivion, or else wastes
Itself away—This is love‘s history. ”