Floral Poetry. 
THE ROSE. 
J UST like love is yonder Rose :— 
Heavenly fragrance round it throws, 
Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose, 
And in the midst of briers it blows; 
Just like love. 
Culled to bloom upon the breast, 
Since rough thorns the stem invest, 
They must be gathered with the rest, 
And with it to the heart be prest; 
Just like love. 
And when rude hands the twin buds sever, 
They die, and they shall blossom never ; 
Yet the thorns be sharp as ever ; 
Just like love. 
From Camoens. 
THE MOSS-ROSE. 
/JO.HE Angel of the Flowers, one day, 
A Beneath a Rose-tree sleeping lay ; 
That Spirit to whose charge ’tis given 
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven 3— 
Awaking from his light repose, 
The Angel whispered to the Rose : 
“ O fondest object of my care, 
Still fairest found, where all are fair ; 
For the sweet shade thou giv’st to me, 
Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee ! ” 
“Then,” said the Rose, with deepened glow, 
“ On me another grace bestow.” 
