FLORA AND THALIA. 145 



Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand 



O'er many a level grave ; 

 In the belfry's crevices, the dove 



Her young brood nurseth v^rell, 

 Whist thou, lone flower ! dost shed above 



A sweet decaying smell. 



In the season of the tulip cup, 



When blossoms clothe the trees. 

 How sweet to throw the lattice up, 



And scent thee en the breeze. 

 The butterfly is then abroad, 



The bee is on the wing, 

 And on the hawthorn by the road 



The linnets sit and sing. 



Sweet wall-flower — sweet wall-flower I 



Thou conjurest up to me. 

 Full many a soft and sunny hour 



Of boyhood's thoughtless glee ; 

 When joy from out the daisies grew. 



In woodland pastures green, 

 And summer skies were far more blue 



Than since they e'er have been. 



Now autumn's pensive voice is heard 



Amid the yellow bowers. 

 The robin is the regal bird. 



And thou the Queen of Flowers ! 

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