Floral Poetry. 
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 
With moonlight beams of their own watery light; 
And bulrushes and reeds of such deep green 
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 
Methought that of these visionary flowers 
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
That the same hues which in their natural bowers 
Were mingled or opposed, the like array 
Kept these imprisoned children of the hours 
Within my hand,—and then, elate and gay, 
I hastened to the spot whence I had come, 
That I might there present it !—Oh ! to whom ? 
Shelley. 
DECISION OF THE FLOWER. 
A ND with scarlet Poppies, around like a bower, 
The maiden found her mystic flower. 
“ Now, gentle flower, I pray thee, tell 
If my lover loves me, and loves me well : 
So may the fall of the morning dew 
Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue. 
Now I number the leaves for my lot— 
He loves not—he loves me—he loves me not— 
He loves me—yes, thou last leaf, yes— 
I’ll pluck thee not for the last sweet guess ! 
He loves me ! ”—“ Yes,” a dear voice sighed, 
And her lover stands by Margaret’s side. 
L. E. Landon. 
