Floral Poetry. 
*33 
'The Rose with bright and peerless bloom, 
Attracted many eyes : 
But while her glories and perfume, 
Expire before brief Summer’s doom, 
Thy fragrance never dies. 
Thou art not like the fickle train 
Our adverse fates estrange : 
Who in the day of grief and pain 
Are found deceitful, light, and vain, 
For thou dost never change. 
But thou are emblem of the friend, 
Who, whatsoe’er our lot, 
The balm of faithful love will bend, 
And, true and constant, to the end, 
May die, but alters not. 
Agnes Strickland. 
THE LILY. 
mHE stream with languid murmur creeps 
A In Lumin’s flow’ry vale; 
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps, 
Slow waving to the gale. 
“ Cease, restless gale !” it seems to say, 
“ Nor wake me with thy sighing ! 
The honours of my vernal day 
On rapid wings are flying. 
“ To-morrow shall the traveller come 
Who late beheld me blooming; 
His searching eye shall vainly roam 
The dreary vale of Lumin.” 
Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
