POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
83 
FIELD FLOWERS. 
Flowers of the field, how meet j’e seem 
Man’s frailty to pourtray : 
Blooming so fair, ’neath morning’s beam. 
Passing at eve away ; 
Teach this, and oh ! though brief your reign, 
Sweet flowers, ye shall not live in vain. 
Go, form a monitory wreath 
For youth’s unthinking brow ; 
Go, and to busy manhood breathe 
What most he fears to know ; 
Go, strew the path where age doth tread, 
And tell him of the silent dead. 
But whilst to thoughtless ones and gay. 
Ye breathe these truths severe; 
To those who droop, ’neath pale decay. 
Have ye no word of cheer ? 
Yes, yes, ye weave a double spell. 
And life and death betoken well. 
Go then where, wrapt in fear and gloom, 
Fond hearts and true are sighing ; 
And deck with emblematic bloom 
The pillow of the dying; 
And softly speak, nor speak in vain. 
Of your long sleep and broken chain. 
