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The glorious flowers that yet remain, 
To deck the valley, hill, and plain ? 
The ripening Oats, whose sighing tells 
“ Of Music’s sweetly witching spells ? ” 
The holy Passion Flower , which bloomed 
First when the Saviour was entombed, 
And would such deep devotion speak, 
As seems like “ Superstition ” weak ? 
The Flovjer of Love that bleeding lies, 
“ Like Hope, ’neath Disappointment’s eyes ?” 
The sadly “mourning” Cypress Vine? 
And fondly clinging Columbine , 
That gaily still is heard to say, 
Beware “ the folly of delay ? ” 
The bright Verbena, bending low, 
Her “ sensibility ” to show ? 
While Amaranth’s (“ Forever thine,”) 
And Periwinkle’s charms combine, 
Of “ sweet remembrances ” to sing, 
While thought reverts to early spring? 
And, see, the bright Althea opes 
Her blossoms to assure thy hopes, 
