104 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CERUS. 
How coyly thou the golden hours dost number! 
Not all their splendour can thy love beguile ; 
Vainly the morning zephyrs fan thy slumber, 
And noon’s rich glory wooes thee for a smile. 
For thou dost blossom when cool shadows hover, 
And dews are falling through the dusky air 
When with new fervor dreams the happy lover. 
And winds grow solemn with the voice of prayer. 
With all around thee earth’s bright things are 
sleeping. 
Gay lilies fade and droops the crimson rose. 
Fresh is the vigil thou alone art keeping. 
And sweet the charms thy virgin leaves disclose. 
Thus, in the soul is deep love ever hidden. 
Thus noble minds will ever shun the throng. 
And at their chosen time start forth unbidden, 
With peerless valor or undying song. 
Thus the true heart its mystic leaves concealing, 
Folds them serenely from the woi'ld’s broad 
glare, 
Its treasured bliss and inmost grief revealing 
To the calm starlight and the dewy air. 
Blest is thy lesson, vestal of the flowers— 
Not in the sunshine is our whole delight; 
Some joys bloom only in love’s pensive hours. 
And pour their fragrance on the breeze of night 
