166 FLORA’S DIAL. 
December 13. 
CITRON. — Estrangement. 
We meet in crowds! ah, how unlike the meeting • 
Our bosoms knew, in those sweet, by-gone hours, 
When Time’s swift pinions seemed on sunbeams 
fleeting, 
And Youth’s light footsteps trod alone on flowers! 
We meet in crowds! as strangers, cold and sadly, 
Who ne’er had met, nor e’er may meet again; 
We part! — and in each bosom, deeply, —madly, 
Rankles the wound that must for aye remain! 
Mrs. C. B. Wilson. 
December 14. 
COXCOMB. — Singularity. 
When first you look upon her face, 
You little note beside 
The timidness, that still betrays 
The beauties it would hide ; 
But, one by one, they look from out 
Her blushes and her eyes, — 
And still, the last the loveliest, 
like stars from twilight skies. Anon. 
