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Floral Poetry. 
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TO THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. 
JHTX.HY fruit full well the schoolboy knows, 
^ Wild Bramble of the brake ! 
So, put thou forth thy small white Rose; 
I love it for his sake. 
Though Woodbines flaunt and Roses glow 
O’er all the fragrant bowers, 
Thou need’st not be ashamed to show 
Thy satin-threaded flowers; 
For dull the eye, the heart is dull 
That cannot feel how fair, 
Amid all beauty, beautiful 
Thy tender blossoms are ! 
How delicate thy gauzy frill ! 
How rich thy branchy stem ! 
How soft thy voice when woods are still, 
And thou sing’st hymns to them ! 
While silent showers are falling slow, 
And, ’mid the general hush, 
A sweet air lifts the little bough, 
Lone whispering through the bush ! 
The Primrose to the grave is gone ; 
The Hawthorn flower is dead; 
The Violet by the mossed grey stone 
Hath laid her weary head; 
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