72 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
CANTERBURY BELL. 
(Acknowledgment.) 
Ah, must I tell thee? Well, I fear 
The die is surely cast 
That I am thine, and only thine, 
Beloved, to the last. 
I could not see thee, hear thy voice, 
Or look upon thy brow, 
Nor fail to love thee tenderly— 
My heart must break or bow. 
CARNATION, YELLOW.* 
(Disdain.) 
It is not well amid thy race to move 
And shut thy heart to sympathy and love ; 
It is not well to scorn inferior minds, 
And pass them by as though they were but hinds. 
Pride may become thee, as the veil a nun; 
But ah ! they love thee not whom thou dost shun ! 
And days may come to thee when human love 
Thou wilt desire all earthly things above; 
* This Is a very rich and fragrant flower, growing sometimes as large 
as a rose. 
