THE POESY OF FLOWERS. 



THE FLOWER ANGELS. 



As delicate form as thine, my love, 



And beauty like thine have the angels above; 



Yet man cannot see them, though often they come, 



On visits to earth, from their native home; 



Thou ne'er wilt behold them, but if thou wouldst 



know 



The houses in which (when they wander below) 

 The angels are fondest of passing their hours, 

 1 '11 tell thee, fair Lady, they dwell in the flowers! 



Each flower, as it blossoms, expands to a tent, 

 For the house of a visiting angel meant; 

 From his flight o'er the earth he may there find re- 

 pose, 



Till again to the vast tent of heaven he goes. 

 And the angel his dwelling-place keeps in repair, 

 As every good man of his mansion takes care; 

 All around he adorns it, and carpets it well, 

 And much he 's delighted within it to dwell. 



True sunshine of gold, from the orb of day, 



lie borrows, his roof with the beams to inlay; 



All the hues of each season to aid him he calls, 



And with them he tinges his chamber walls; 



His bread he bakes from the flower's fine meal, 



So mingled that hunger he never may feel; 



He brews from the dew-drop a draught fresh and 



good, 

 And every thing does which a housekeeper should. 



And greatly the flowers, as they open, rejoice 

 That they are the home of the angel's choice; 

 But, O, when to heaven the angel ascends, 

 The flower falls asunder the stalk sadly bends! 

 If thou, my dear Lady, in truth art inclined 

 The spirits of heaven beside thee to find, 

 Make Nature thy study, companion and lover, 

 And, trust me. the angels around thee will hover. 



