POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
77 
TO A LOVER OF FLOWERS. 
Still, gentle lady, clierish flowers— 
True fairy friends are they. 
On whom, of all thy cloudless hours. 
Not one is thrown away; 
By them, unlike man’s ruder race. 
No care conferr’d is spurned. 
But all thy fond and fostering grace 
A thousand-fold return’d. 
The rose repays thee all thy smiles— 
The stainless lily rears. 
Dew in the chalice of its wiles. 
As sparkling as thy tears. 
The glances of thy gladden’d eyes 
Not thanklessly are pour’d ; 
In the blue violet’s tender dyes 
Behold them all i-estored. 
Yon bright carnation—once thy cheek 
Bent o’er it in the bud ; 
And back it gives thy blushes meek 
In one rejoicing flood ! 
That balm has treasured all thy sighs. 
That snow-drop touch’d thy brow. 
Thus not a charm of thine shall die. 
Thy painted people vow. 
