Floral Poetry. 
29 
Well know’st thou that fair tree— 
A murmur of the bee 
Dwells ever in the honied lime above ; 
Bring me one pearly flower 
Of all its clustering shower — 
For on that spot we first revealed our love. 
Gather one Woodbine bough, 
Then, from the lattice low 
Of the bowered cottage which I bade thee mark, 
When by the hamlet last, 
Through dim wooddanes we passed, 
While dews were glancing to the glow-worm’s spark. 
Haste ! to my pillow bear 
Those fragrant things and fair, 
Thy hand no more may bind them up at eve — 
Yet shall their odour soft 
One bright dream round me waft 
Of life, youth, summer—all that I must leave ! 
And, oh ! if thou would’st ask 
Wherefore thy steps I task, 
The grove, the stream, the hamlet vale to trace, 
’Tis that some thought of me, 
When I am gone, may be 
The spirit bound to each familiar place. 
I bid mine image dwell 
(Oh ! break not thou the spell) 
In the deep wood and by the fountain side ; 
Thou must not, my beloved ! 
Rove where we two have roved, 
Forgetting her that in her spring-time died ! 
Mrs. Haitians. 
