88 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
How would it languish for the buds 
It left in thousands there, 
Fringing the margin of the woods, 
Like gems in beauty’s hair ! 
That sweet, pale rose! 0 cull it not 
Without its kindred flowers. 
Nor doom it to an exile’s lot, 
Far from its native bowers. 
But let me bring a handful more, 
Yellow, and white, and red. 
Their mingled fragrancy to pour— 
Their blended light to shed. 
And see those daisy-twins, mamma ; 
How lovingly they smile ! 
Yearning for day’s resplendent star. 
Yet bright’ning earth the while. 
I could not bear to bid them part. 
And leave one lonely here ; 
’Twould seem like tearing from my heart 
Some friendship fond and dear. 
