FLORA’S DIAL. 151 
November 11. 
LOCUST THEE. — Affection beyond the grave. 
Sainted maid ! 
My thoughts oft rest with thee in thy cold grave, 
Through the long wintry night, when wind and wave 
Rock the dark house where thy poor head is laid. 
Yet hush ! my fond heart, hush ! there is a shore 
Of better promise ; and I know at last, 
When the long Sabbath of the tomb is past, 
We two shall meet in Christ, to part no more. 
Kirke White. 
November 12. 
LICHEN. — Sadness. 
Oh my lonely, lonely, lonely pillow ! 
Where is my lover ? where is my lover ? 
Is it his bark my dreary dreams discover ? 
Far, far away, and alone, along the billow ? 
Oh my lonely, lonely, lonely pillow ! 
Why must my head ache where his gentle brow 
lay? 
How the long night flags, lovelessly and slowly ! 
And my head droops over thee like the willow ! 
Byron. 
