78 
TIIE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
I know my words are weak and small — 
For mind like tliine unmeet; 
But I have love beyond them all, 
To lavish at thy feet. 
Nay, heed it not, this foolish tear 
That trembles in mine eye; 
It always comes when thou art here,— 
I know not how or why. 
It is not gi’ief, or pain, or joy,— 
It comes of love, maybe; 
Then do not thou the spell destroy— 
’Tis bliss to weep for thee ! 
GENTIAN.* 
(Virgin Pride.) 
Alone and pure my life shall be, 
A vestal flame from passion free; 
Unwon, unwooed by human love, . 
My heart shall fix its hopes above. 
Approach me not with tempting wiles— 
My lip denies thee while it smiles; 
In virgin liberty and peace 
I will live out my mortal lease. 
* A very beautiful autumn wild flower, of a deep blue colour, with 
delicately fringed petals. 
