<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=349932" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Betrothed</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I DID not think to love her. As we go<br>We pluck a hedge-rose blushing in its sheath,<br>Fresh, and at hand; and not the less we know<br>That where rich garden blossoms take the breath<br>With eddying sweets and wear a thousand hues<br>We shall be fain to linger and to choose.<br>And who indeed<br>Would pass the garden by to choose the weed,<br>The little wayside rose we hold and lose?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair; and so loving. With the young surprise<br>Of children who still newly understand<br>Their right and wrong out of their mother's eyes,<br>She watches for my thought. Her trustful hand<br>Creeps into mine and rests. Ah, little one,<br>Hadst thou loved less I had not been undone;<br>My wayside rose.<br>I love thee, sweet: some hopes have found their close<br>Ere yet their aim; some joys ceased unbegun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had not thought to love her. She is fair;<br>But I had pictured eyes which, meeting mine,<br>Should kindle something in me that was there<br>But waited Her arousing; I divine<br>A love, that was to be, past hence unborn,<br>The sun o'erclouded ere it rose at morn.<br>I love thee, yes:<br>Let hopes be dead which thou couldst never guess.<br>Sweet, could I let thy blossom drop unworn?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Augusta+Davies+Webster">Augusta Davies Webster</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=349932" data-title="Betrothed de Augusta Davies Webster" data-description="I DID not think to love her. As we go We pluck a hedge-rose blushing in its sheath, Fresh, and at hand; and not the less we know That where rich garden blossoms take the breath With eddying sweets and wear a thousand hues We shall be fain to linge..."></div> </div> </div>

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