POETRY OP FLOWERS. 
131 
THE FADING ROSE. 
The Rose, the sweetly blooming rose, 
E’er from the tree it’s torn, 
Is like the charms which Beauty shows, 
In life’s exulting morn. 
But oh ! how soon its sweets are gone. 
How soon it withering lies ! 
So when the eve of life comes on. 
Sweet Beauty fades and dies. ’ 
Then, since the fairest form that’s made, 
Soon withering we shall find. 
Let us possess what ne’er will fade. 
The beauty of the mind. 
TO A FADED PRIMROSE. 
Well do I love to look on thee, thou sweet and 
simple flower, 
Tay beauty oft hath cheer’d my heart in sorrow’s 
pensive hour; 
And now with moisten’d eye I mark thy glowin<^ 
tints decay, ° 
And sigh to think that aught I love so soon should 
pass away. 
