POETRY OE FLOWERS. 163 
And fed with faithful fondness to your grave— 
(Though sometimes with a hand stretched back from 
heaven) 
Steadfast through all things—near when most forgot—• 
And with its finger of unerring truth 
Pointing the lost way in thy darkest hour. 
One lamp— thy mother’s love —amid the stars 
Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and before 
The throne of God burn through eternity— 
Holy—as it was lit and lent thee here. 
N. P. Willis. 
MYRTLE. 
Myrtus . Class 12 ; Order 1, 
LOVE IN ABSENCE. 
I miss thee each lone hour, 
Star of my heart! 
No other voice hath power 
Joy to impart. 
I listen for thy hasty step. 
Thy kind, sweet tone ; 
But sorrowing silence whispers me, 
Thou art alone ! 
Darkness is on the hearth— 
Nought do I say ; 
Books are but little worth— 
Thou art away ! 
