Answer to the Enigma published in the Morning Herald
How sweet the rose’s vermil hue
Its opening at the zephyr’s sigh
It shews its bosom wet with dew,
That gives its charms a brighter dye.
But sweeter far the crimson Blush,
Which, rising on the virgin’s cheek
Tho’ maiden fears her accents hush
Can all the heart’s emotion speak.
When praise her honied drops distills
It seems to shew a meek distrust
Yet every feeling heart it fills,
With surest proof the praise is just.
When love would all its ardour tell
And all its tender fears impart,
Oh say, could language half so well
Reveal the feelings of the heart.
Whate’er its source, if conscious love
Or modesty its birth control
Its rising crimson, e’er must prove
The offspring of a feeling soul.