A SOUTHERN BLOSSOM

COME and see her as she stands,
Crimson roses in her hands;
——And her eyes
Are as dark as Southern night,
Yet than Southern dawn more bright,
And a soft, alluring light
——In them lies.
None deny if she beseech
With that pretty, liquid speech
——Of the South.
All her consonants are slurred,
And the vowels are preferred;
There's a poem in each word
——From that mouth.
Even Cupid is her slave;
Of her arrows, half he gave
——Her one day
In a merry, playful hour.
Dowered with these and beauty's dower,
Strong indeed her magic power,
——So they say.
Venus, not to be outdone
By her generous little son,
——Shaped the mouth
Very like to Cupid's bow.
Lack-a-day! Our North can show
No such lovely flowers as grow
——In the South!