THE CHINA STAR. 101 



I shook the bush, and snow-flakes thickly flying, 

 A score of fresh and blooming flowers arose ; 



Like spirits, where the loved in death are lying, 

 Or, like such friends, as do outlive the snows 



Of sorrow's winter — friendship's flowers to weave. 



When those who seemed more fair, with fortune's summer leave. 



I kissed the flowers — ^nor doth it need conceaUng, 

 Moistened their beauties from a melting eye ; 



For they had touched a fountain fast congealing, 

 Which in the secrets of the heart doth lie : 



Half the chill desolateness of Autumn fled — 



Joy warmed again my breast, and hope rose from the dead. 



I've loved all flowers, aye, from my early childhood— 

 The garden -buds, that opened 'neath my care ; 



The thousand blossoms which enrich the wild wood, 

 And rarer plants, that grace the gay parterre : 



But most of all my love shall ever be, 



Sweet China Star — Autumn's " last, not least," on thee ! 



