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PASSION FLOWER. 
The same. —dr. edmund cartwrigiit. 
Yon mystic flower, with gold and azure 
bright, 
Whose stem luxuriant speaks a vigorous root, 
Unfolds her blossoms to the morn’s salute. 
That close and die in the embrace of night. 
No luscious fruits the cheated taste invite— 
Her short-lived blossoms, ere they lead to 
fruit. 
Demand a genial clime, and suns that shoot 
Their rays direct, with undiminished light. 
Thus hope, the passion-flower of human life, 
Whose wild luxuriance mocks the pruner’s 
knife, 
Profuse in promise makes a like display 
Of evanescent blooms—that last a day ; 
To cheer the mental eye, no more is given : 
The fruit is only to be found—in heaven. 
