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POETPvY OP FLOWERS. 
Sweet wall-flower, sweet wall-flower I 
Thou conjurest up to me 
Full many a soft and sunny hour 
Of boyhood’s thoughtless glee, 
When joy from out the daisies grew, 
In woodland pastures green. 
And summer skies were far more blue. 
Than since they e’er have been. 
Now autumn’s pensive voice is heard 
Amid the yellow bowers. 
The robin is the regal bird. 
And thou the Queen of Flowers 1 
He sings on the laburnum trees, 
Amid the twilight dim. 
And Araby ne’er gave the breeze 
Such scents as thou to him. 
Rich is the pink, the lily gay, 
The rose is summer’s guest; 
Bland are thy charms when these decay, 
Of flowers, first, last, and best! 
There may be gaudier on the bower. 
And statelier on the tree. 
But wall-fiower, loved wall-flower. 
Thou art the flower for me! 
