98 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
But thou wilt find me still the same— 
For love like mine can never die. 
I will be thine through weal aud woe, 
Through days of joy and sorrow’s night; 
My faith like morning’s beams shall glow,— 
My love shall be thy quenchless light. 
VIOLET, PURPLE. 
(You occupy my Thoughts.) 
TnE sun is bright — its golden rays 
Gild mountain-top and flower; 
O’er rock, and wave, and vale it plays, 
From morn till evening hour. 
But, ah ! no beauty in its beams 
My weary heart can see, 
While rocks, and vales, and glancing streams 
Keep me away from thee ! 
The waves to others wear a light 
More glorious than the sky ; 
To me earth’s hues are only bright 
Reflected from thine eye. 
The world may deem me dull and sad— 
I care not how that be; 
