POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
93 
Forget me not! for I am lonely, 
And stranded on Life’s desert shore; 
.Forget me not!—I ask that only^- 
For now our paths may meet no more. 
•• Could I but think you don’t forget, 
Though all my hopes of life should perish, 
I’d pass them by without regret, 
So that that thought I still might cherish. 
Forget me not! ’fcis all I ask, 
And though thy hand may be another’s, 
I’ll wear upon my face a mask 
Of smiles to hide the grief it covers. 
“ Let, then, these withered flowers recall 
Each broken link of Mem’ry’s chain ; 
And from the Past’s dim haunted hall 
Those happy hours bring back again. 
Forget me not! mine only love— 
Ah ! would indeed that you were mitie.' 
Forget me not! my long-lost dove, 
In dreams my heart will beat next thine !” 
John Ingram. 
‘‘It is said that after the battle of Waterloo 
an immense quantity of forget-me-nots sprang 
up upon different parts of the soil, enriched by 
the blood of heroes. . . A poet might say 
that the appearance of such a flower in this me¬ 
morable spot seemed to ask that we should not 
soon forget those who perished on the field.” 
This little floral pet, which Coleridge aptly 
jails 
