THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 
How happily, liow happily, the flowers die away ; 
Oh ! could we hut return to earth as easily as they ! 
Just live a life of sunshine, of innocence, and bloom, 
Then drop, without decrepitude or pain, into the tomb. 
The gay and glorious creatures ! they neither u toil nor spin 
Yet lo ! what goodly raiment they’re all apparelled in ; 
No tears are on their beauty, but dewy gems more bright, 
Thau ever brow of eastern queen endiademed with light. 
The young rejoicing creatures ! their pleasures never pall ; 
Nor lose in sweet contentment, because so free to all ! 
The dew, the showers, the sunshine, the balmy blessed air, 
Spend nothing of their freshness, though all may freely shar 
The happy careless creatures ; of time they take no heed ; 
Nor weary of his creeping, nor tremble at his speed ; 
Nor sigh with sick impatience, and wish the light away ; 
Nor when ’tis gone cry dolefully, “ would God that it were day 
And when their lives are over, they drop away to rest, 
Unconscious of the penal doom, on holy Nature’s breast ; 
No pain have they in dying, no shrinking from decay ; 
Oh ! could we but return to earth as easily as they ! 
CAROLINE BOWLES. 
