120 FLORA’S DIAL. 
September 5. 
HUMBLE PLANT. — Despondency. 
| All desolate, — 
Alone walking, 
In thought plaining, 
And sore sighing, 
Me remembering 
Of my living, 
And death wishing ' 
Unfortunate 
Is so my fate, 
That wot she what 
My life I hate : 
Thus desperate 
In such poor estate, 
Early and late ; — 
Out of measure, 
Do I endure ! 
Chaucer. 1370. 
September 6. 
IRIS. — Pleasant Message. 
May Time, who sheds his blight o’er all, 
And daily dooms some joy to death, — 
O’er thee, let years so gently fall, 
They shall not crush one flower beneath ! 
Moore. 
