TIIE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Keate. 
Ij'VER let the fancy roam, 
^ J Pleasure never is at home; 
At a touch sweet pleasure melteth 
Like to bubble, when rain pelteth. 
Then let winged Fancy wander 
Through the thought still spread beyond her. 
Open wide the mind’s cage door, 
She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar. 
Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose, 
Summer’s joys are spoilt by use, 
And the enjoying of the spring 
Fades as does its blossoming: 
Autumn’s red-lipped fruitage too, 
Blushing through the mist and dew, 
