THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 209 
Cntxsiatti 
BY BERNARD BARTON. 
Nay, tell me not, my dearest, 
That time has dimm’d thy eye; 
Still, still my path thou cheerest. 
As in days that are gone by. 
Say not thy cheek is faded. 
By sorrows, cares and fears; 
That thy brow is somewhat shaded 
By the clouds of other years. 
If time much more had taken, 
I could forgive each theft; 
Whilst thy heart remained unshaken. 
And its love for me was left. 
I, too, am something older 
Than when I met with thee; 
But hearts become no colder, 
If they are what hearts should be. 
Thy own has never altered. 
As years have o’er me past; — 
Thy love has never faltered, 
When my brow has been o’ercast. 
Then tell me not of changes, 
In cheek, or brow, or hair; 
The love such loss estranges 
Must be lighter far than air. 
