POETRY OF THE ROSE. 75 



THE QUEEN OF FLOWERS. 



Most glorious Rose ! 

 You are the queenly belle. On you all eyes 

 Admiring turn. Doubtless you might indite 

 Romances from your own sweet history. 

 They 're all the fashion now, and crowd the page 

 Of many a periodical. Wilt tell 

 None of your heart adventures 1 Never mind ! 

 All can detect the Zephyr's stolen kiss 

 In your deep blush ; so, where's the use to seal 

 Your lips so cunningly, when all the world 

 Call you the flower of love ? 



And now good-bye ; 

 A pleasant gossip have I had with you, 

 Obliging visitants, but must away 

 To graver toils. Still keep your incense fresh 

 And free to rise to Him who tints your brows, 

 Bidding the brown mould and unsightly stem 

 Put forth such blaze of beauty as translates 

 To dullest hearts His dialect of love. 



From " Gossip with a Bouciuet." 



A THOUGHT OF THE ROSE. 



How much of memory dwells amid thy bloom, 

 Rose ! ever wearing beauty for thy dower ! 



The bridal day — the festival — the tomb, — 



Thou hast thy part in each, thou stateliest flower ; 



Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by 

 A thousand images of love and grief — 



Dreams, filled with tokens of mortality. 



Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief. 



