THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
85 
Our fears do tremble in another’s heart, 
Our sufferings bedew another’s eye ! 
As the little floweret hideth 
By the woodland stream, 
So in youthful hearts abideth 
Love’s first witching dream. 
LILY, WHITE. 
(Purity and Sweetness.) 
Ask me not why I should love her: 
Look upon those soul-full eyes ! 
Look while mirth or feeling move her, 
And see there how sweetly rise 
Thoughts gay and gentle from a breast 
Which is of innocence the nest— 
Which, though each joy were from it fled, 
By truth would still be tenanted ! 
LONDON PRIDE. 
(Frivolity.) 
Love should have higher, nobler aims 
Than mirth, and song, and dance; 
Oh, then, from sport and idle games 
To higher deeds advance. 
