POETRY OF THE ROSE. 83 



So, love of nature's harmony can bless 



And gladden ever 

 The heart and fancy, as pellucid wave 



Of fount or river 



Flings back more bright what bright doth on it fall, 

 And its own radiance lends where else were none at all. 



LOUISA ANN TWAMLEY. 



THE ROSES. 



I saw them once blowing, 



While morning was glowing ; 

 But now are their withered leaves strew'd o'er the ground. 



For tempests to play on, 



For cold worms to prey on, 

 The shame of the garden that triumphs around. 







Their buds which then flourished, 



With dew-drops were nourish'd, 

 Which turn'd into pearls as they fell from on high ; 



Their hues are all banish'd, 



Their fragrance all vanish'd, 

 Ere evening a shadow has cast from the sky. 



I saw, too, whole races 



Of glories and graces 

 Thus open and blossom, but quickly decay ; 



And smiling and gladness, 



In sorrow and sadness, 

 Ere life reach'd its twilight, fade dimly away. 



