ABSTRACT
Percy Osborn. From The Spirit Lamp, vol. 3, 17 February 1893. Written December 1892. Heartsease it was from his dear hand I took, A dainty flower that loves the garden air, Breathing the freshness of his boyhood fair. So it was treasured in a golden book. There came another with a far-off look, His hand an orchid gave; ’twas strange and rare, And caught my senses in a beauteous snare, Till sunlight for the furnace I forsook. My heart grew drowsy with a sweet disease; And fluttered in a cage of fantasy; And I remembered how his face was pale, Yet by its very paleness more did please; Now hath the orchid grown a part of me, But still the heartsease tells its olden tale.
