248 THE POESY OF FLOWERS. 



THE THREE FLOWERS. 



A Tulip blossomed one morning in May, 



By the side of a sanded alley; 

 Its leaves were dressed in rich array, 

 Like the clouds at the earliest dawn of day, 



When the mist rolls over the valley. 

 The dew had descended the night before, 



And lay in its velvet bosom, 

 And its spreading urn was flowing o'er, 

 And the crystal heightened the tints it bore 



On its yellow and crimson blossom. 



A sweet red Rose, on its bending thorn, 



Its bud was newly spreading, 

 And the flowing effulgence of early morn 



Its beams on its breast was shedding; 

 The petals were heavy with dripping tears, 



That twinkled in pearly brightness, 

 And the thrush in its covert filled my ears 



With a varied song of lightness. 



A Lily, in mantle of purest snow, 



Hung over a silent fountain, 

 And the wave, in its calm and quiet flow, 

 Displayed its silken leaves below, 



Like the drift on the windy mountain: 

 It bowed with the moisture the night had wept 



When the stars shone over the billow, 

 And white-winged spirits their vigils kept, 

 Where beauty and innocence sweetly slept 



On its pure and thoraless pillow. 



Percival. 



