Floral Poetry . 
-if 
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Ye droop, fond flowers ! But did ye know 
What worth, what goodness there reside, 
Your cups with loveliest tints would glow, 
And spread their leaves with conscious pride. 
' 'ii 
For there has liberal Nature joined 
Her riches to the stores of art, 
And added to the vigorous mind, 
The soft, the sympathising heart. 
Come then—ere yet the morning ray 
Bias drunk the dew that gems your crest, 
And drawn your balmiest sweets away; 
O come, and grace my Anna’s breast. 
More blest than me, thus shall ye live 
Your little day ; and when ye die, 
Sweet flowers ! the grateful Muse shall give 
A verse ; the sorrowing maid, a sigh. 
While I, alas ! no distant date, 
Mix with the dust from whence I came, 
Without a friend to weep my fate, 
Without a stone to tell my name. 
William Gifford. 
