112 POETEY OF FLOWERS. 
Once I welcome you more, in life’s passionless 
stage, 
With the visions of youth to revisit my age. 
And I wish you to grow on my tomb. 
THE ROSE. ' 
As late each flower that sweetest blows 
I pluck’d, the garden’s pride ! 
Within the petals of a rose 
A sleeping Love I spied. 
Around his brows a beamy wreath 
Of many a lucent hue; 
All purple glowed his cheek, beneath. 
Inebriate with dew. 
I softly seized the unguarded Power, 
Nor scared his balmy rest; 
And placed him, caged within the flower, 
On spotless Sara’s breast. 
But when, unweeting of the guile. 
Awoke the prisoner sweet, 
He struggled to escape awhile, 
And stamp’d his fairy feet. 
