O GLORY-WEDDED! To thy brow
A coronal is given,
For Which, when song and Greece were young,
The very gods had striven.

O, find'st thou not that envied crown
A weary weight, and chilling?
Its lonely glory, is it not
An ice-touch, heartward thrilling?

Ah, no! e'en now a rosy light
Those vernal leaves is flushing;
0 woman-hearted, love's warm buds
Are 'mid thy laurels blushing!