WHEN swing the morning-glory bells,
  By marble pillar wreathing;
When o'er the perfumed violet dells
  The morning zephyr's breathing,
That time I wander down a way
  That myrtle sweet encloses,
And all about I pry and peep
  For Love amongst the Roses.

A rosy brake I see ahead,
  In golden vapour flushing;
My steps are winged, and on I speed,
  The fragrant fortress crushing.
The dewy petals flutter fast--
  The gap to me discloses,
Asleep upon the damask blooms,
  Sweet Love amongst the Roses.

I stand entranced.  O beauteous sight!
  He looks so sweet and simple--
The infant curls of golden hair,
  The crimson cheek and dimple.
His golden quiver empty lies;
  His chubby hand encloses
A crimson heart, and thus I find
  Arch Love amongst the Roses.