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.