THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
95 
To age how kind thy courtesy, 
To woman how sincere! 
Alike removed from vanity, 
From artifice and fear. 
S Y R I N G A. 
(Memory.) 
O Memory ! thou only wakener of the dead ! 
Thou only treasurer of the vanished past! 
How welcome art thou when bright hope is fled, 
And sorrow’s mantle o’er the soul is cast! 
Back o’er those days, too beautiful to last, 
Thy gentle hand will lead the saddened thought; 
And though the tears may trickle warm and fast, 
Yet thy sweet pictures with such peace are fraught, 
The heart, beguiled, exclaims—“ This is the fount I 
sought!” 
TULIP, VARIEGATED* 
(Beautiful Eyes.) 
Melting, dazzling, tender, bright, 
Full of Love’s own gentle light; 
* Corolla bell-shaped. No calyx. Colour of the flower, In its natural 
state, crimson. By cultivation it has been made to assume every variety 
of hue. 
