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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
In April’s bower thy sweets are breathed, 
And June beholds thy blossoms fair; 
In Autumn’s chaplets thou art wreathed, 
And round December’s forehead bare. 
With thee the graceful lily vied, 
As summer breezes waved her head ; 
And now the snowdrop at thy side 
Meekly contrasts thy cheerful red. 
’Tis thine to hear each varying voice. 
That marks the seasons sad or gay; 
The summer thrush bids thee rejoice. 
And wintry robin’s dearer lay. 
Sweet flower ! how happy dost thou seem, 
’Mid parching heat, ’mid nipping frost: 
While gathering beauty from each beam. 
No hue, no grace of thine is lost! 
Thus Hope, ’mid life’s severest days. 
Still smiles, still triumphs o’er despair ; 
Alike she lives in Pleasure’s rays. 
And cold Affection’s wintry air. 
Charmer, alike in lordly bower. 
And in the hermit’s cells she glows ; 
The Poet’s and the Lover’s flower, 
The bosom’s Everlasting Eose ! 
