132 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Thou wert an early favourite—in boyhood’s happy 
days 
I loved to haunt the spot where thou thy modest 
head did raise; 
And watch with passionate delight thy small leaves 
brightly bloom, 
Which breathed on every passing breeze their de¬ 
licate perfume. 
In manhood’s ripened years, sweet flower, thou art 
beloved still. 
And fondly sought for as of yore, by rivulet and 
rill— 
And often in my wanderings, by mead and flowery 
lea. 
Array’d in glittering dew-drops bright thy well- 
known form I see. 
0 ! beautiful exceedingly, is thy last lingering 
look. 
Which seems to bid a sad “farewell” to valley, 
hill, and brook ; 
And did not shades of doubt and fear upon my 
spirit lie, 
Like thee, lone flower, I’d tranquilly breathe out 
my latest sighr 
