Yet, round the buds, though widely scatter'd, The same soft perfume still we find; And thus, although the tie is broken That link'd us round our mother's knee, The memory of words we've spoken, When we were children light and free, Will, like the perfume of each blossom, Live in our hearts wher'er we roam, As when we slept on one fond bosom, And dwelt within one happy home.
I know that changes have come o'er us; Sweet Sisters! we are not the same, For different paths now lie before us, And all three have a different name; And yet, if sorrow's dimming fingers Have shadowed o'er each youthful brow, So much of light around them lingers I cannot trace those shadows now. Ye both have those who love ye only, Whose dearest hopes are round you thrown, While, like a stream that wanders lonely, Am I, the youngest, wildest one.
My heart is like the wind, that beareth Sweet scents upon its unseen wing — The wind! that for no creature careth, Yet stealeth sweets from every thing; It hath rich thoughts for ever leaping Up, like the waves of flashing seas, That with their music still are keeping Soft time with every fitful breeze; Each leaf that in the bright air quivers, The sounds from hidden solitudes, And the deep flow of far-off rivers, And the loud rush of many floods;