THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 189 
Smiles, 
BY MISS H. F. GOULD. 
Down in my solitude under the snow. 
Where nothing cheering can reach me ; 
Here without light to see how they grow. 
I’ll trust to nature to teach me. 
I will not despair — nor be idle, nor frown, 
Locked in so gloomy a dwellin g ; 
My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down. 
While the bud in my bosom is swelling. 
Soon as the frost will get out of my bed. 
From this cold dungeon to free me, 
I will peer up with my little bright head. 
And all will be joyful to see me. 
Then from my heart will young petals diverge, 
As rays of the sun from their focus ; 
I from the darkness of earth will emerge, 
A happy and beautiful Crocus ! 
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower, 
This little lesson may borrow, 
Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour, 
We come out the brighter to-morrow. 
