SONGS 
AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. 475 
Pule Flowers !—pale, perishing Flowers! 
Ye’re types of precious things, 
Types of those bitter moments 
That flit, like life’s enjoyments, 
On rapid, rapid wings. 
Last hours with parting clear ones 
(That time the fastest spends), 
Last tears in silence shed, 
Last words, half utterhd, 
Last looks of dying friends ! 
Son p anir <%ra of tire JMoers. 
ROSES. 
Leigh JJu>.i 
W E are blushing Roses, 
Bending with our fulness, 
’Midst our close-capped sister buds 
Warming the green coolness. 
Whatsoe’er of beauty 
Yearns and yet reposes,— 
Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath 
Took a shape in roses. 
Hold one of us lightly, 
See from what a slender 
Stalk we bow’d in heavy blooms, 
An d roundness rich and tender. 
