Floral Poetry. 
45 
A little while around thee, love, 
Its fragrance yet shall cling, 
Telling that on thy heart hath lain 
A fair though faded thing. 
But not even that warm heart hath power 
To win it back from fate :— 
Oh ! I am like thy broken flower, 
Cherished too late, too late, 
My love, 
Cherished, alas ! too late. 
Mrs. Hemans. 
TO BLOSSOMS. 
F AIR pledges of a fruitful tree, 
Why do ye fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past, 
But you may stay here yet awhile, 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 
What! were ye born to be 
An hour or half’s delight, 
And so to bid good-night ? 
’Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 
Merely to show your worth, 
And lose you quite. 
But ye are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne’er so brave ; 
And after they have shown their pride, 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 
4 
Herrick. 
