THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
97 
Thy heart’s deep fount of feeling keeps 
In gentle, yet perpetual play. 
The charms of nature thrill thy soul, 
For nature’s own true child thou art; 
And waves of earnest feeling roll 
In ceaseless music through thy heart. 
VERONICA. 
(Fidelity.) 
There are some spirits fitly strung 
To echo back the tones of mine; 
And those few cherished souls among, 
I dare, dear friend, to number thine. 
Angels attend thee ! May their wings 
Fan every shadow from thy brow; 
For only bright and loving things 
Should wait on one so good as thou. 
VIOLET, BLUE. 
(Faithfulness.) 
On, shame may come upon thy name, 
And want and suffering dim thine eye ; 
7 
