POETRY OP FLOWERS. 
161 
TO A WILD ROSE. 
Oh, floweret wild! 
Drooping with many a glittering tear, 
The Summer’s most beloved child, 
Thou’rt welcome here ! 
I speak not of thy shadowy bloom 
Which gleaming mid the leaves we see, 
Nor of thy soft and rich perfume. 
Sweet though it be ;— 
Thou hast a spell, 
A charm far dearer to my heart. 
The power of days long past to tell,— 
Of hopes that would depart 1 
Yes ! gazing on thee now, 
Those scenes beloved can memory draw, 
When simple childhood’s hat of straw 
Shaded my careless brow : 
And round it clustered many a wreath 
Of blossoms wild and sweet as thou. 
And lighter was the heart beneath 
Than it is now,— 
But pass we that,—no thought of grief 
Thy flowers unto my bosom bring. 
But hallowed is each fragrant leaf 
With dreams of hope and spring. 
121 L 
