38 THE FLOWER GIRL. 



For thin, tall fops, I keep the Bush, 



For peasants still am Nightshade weeding ; 



For rakes, I've Devil-in-the-Bush, 

 For sighing Strephons, Love-lies-Bleeding. 



But fairest blooms affection's hand 

 For constancy and worth disposes, 



And gladly weaves at your command, 

 A wreath of Jlmaranths and Roses. 



THE BUD OF THE ROSE, 



Her raouth, which a smile, 

 Devoid of all guile, 

 Half opened to view, 

 Is the bud of the rose, 

 In the morning that blows, 

 Impearled with the dew. 

 More fragrant her breath 

 Than the flower-scented heath 

 At the dawning of day ; 

 The lily's perfume, 

 The hawthorn in bloom, 

 Or the blossoms of May. 



