Floral Poetry. 
Thy wreaths adorn the fairest face, 
Yet art thou not the flower, whose grace 
In solitude I pine for. 
THE LILY. 
A haughty place usurps the Rose, 
And haughtier still doth covet • 
But where the Lily meekly blows, 
Some gentle eye will love it. 
The heart that’s warm and fond and true, 
And pure as mine, when bathed in dew, 
Must value me the highest. 
THE EARL. 
Ah, pure and true of heart am 1, 
And free from sinful failing, 
Yet must I here a captive lie, 
My loneliness bewailing. 
I see the symbol fair in you 
Of many maidens pure and true, 
Yet know a something dearer. 
THE CARNATION. 
That may thy warder’s garden show 
In me, the bright Carnation, 
Else would the old man tend me so 
With loving adoration ? 
In perfect round my petals meet, 
And lifelong are with scent replete, 
And with the loveliest colour. 
THE EARL. 
The sweet Carnation none may slight, 
It is the gardener’s pleasure; 
Now he unfolds it to the light, 
Now shields from it his treasure. 
