294 
MRGE OF FLOWERS. 
When all her sisters of the spring 
On earth’s cold lap are withering.. 
1 he bine-weed, pure and pale, 
That sues to all for aid • 
And when rude storms assail, 
Her snowy virgin veil 
Doth, like some timid maid, . 
In conscious weakness most secure, 
Unscathed its sternest shocks endure. 
How fair her pendant wreath 
O’er bush and brake is twining t 
While meekly there beneath, 
Mid fern and blossomed heath, 
Her lowlier sisters shinino-, 
I inged with the blended hues that streak 
A slumbering infant’s tender cheek. 
And there Vimiria* weaves 
Her light and feathery bowers, 
Mid russet-shaded leaves, 
W here robin sits and grieves 
^ our hasting death, sweet flowers ! 
He sings your requiem all the day. 
And mourns because ye pass away. 
Traveller’s joy. 
