THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
93 
All that the others think are dear; 
And yet far more than they, I fear, 
Because I love thee more ! 
And yet I hope, because I love 
With thoughts that set thee far above 
Vain Fortune’s glittering store; 
Others may deem thou canst be won 
By things that sparkle in the sun, 
But oh! I love thee more! 
ROSE, DEEP RED. 
(Bashful Love.) 
The blushing rose that hangs its head, 
Or meets the sun with shrinking dread, 
Conceals within its heart a flame 
Which from that glowing noontide came. 
So have I loved; but some strange spell 
Forbids my heart its tale to tell: 
Here,—take this simple rose, and feel 
The love my lips dare not reveal. 
ROSE, FULL RED. 
(Beauty.) 
TnY looks how lovely ! and thy face 
So eloquent with mental grace ! 
