Floral Poetry. 
H E ART’S-E AS E. 
V N gardens oft a beauteous flower there grows, 
A By vulgar eyes unnoticed and unseen ; 
In sweet serenity it humbly blows, 
And rears its purple head to deck the green. 
This flower, as nature’s poet sweetly sings, 
Was once milk-white, and Heart’s-ease was its name, 
Till wanton Cupid poised its roseate wings, 
A vestal’s sacred bosom to inflame. 
With treacherous aim the god his arrow drew, 
Which she with icy coldness did repel, 
Rebounding thence with feathery speed it flew, 
Till on this lonely flower, at last, it fell. 
Heart’s-ease no more the wandering shepherd found; 
No 4 *more the nymphs its snowy form possess; 
Its white now changed to purple by Love’s wound, 
Heart's-ease no more,—’tis Love in Idleness. 
Mrs. Sheridan. 
HEAR T’S-E A S E. 
Y USED to love thee, simple flower, 
A To love thee dearly when a boy; 
For thou didst seem in childhood’s hour 
The smiling type of childhood’s joy. 
But now thou only work’st my grief, 
By waking thoughts of pleasures fled. 
Give me—give me the withered leaf, 
That falls on Autumn’s bosom dead. 
