THE WINTER BOUQUET. 119 



THE WINTER BOUQUET. 



FLOWERS ! fresh flowers, with your fragrance 



free, 



Have ye come in your queenly robes to me ? 

 Me have ye sought from your far retreat, 

 With your greeting lips, and your dewy feet ; 

 And the upward glance of your radiant eye, 

 Like angel guests from a purer sky ? 



But where did ye hide when the frost drew 



near, 

 And your many sisters were blanched with 



fear? 



Where did ye hide ? with a blush as bright 

 As ye wore amid Eden s vales of light, 

 Ere the wile of the Tempter its bliss had 



shamed, 

 Or the terrible sword o er its gate-way flam d. 



