POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
178 
There, where the birken bough’s silvery shine 
Gleams over the hawthorn and frail woodbine, 
Moss, deep and green. 
Lies thick, between 
The plots where we violet-flowers are seen. 
And the small gay Celandine’s stars of gold 
Rise sparkling beside our purple’s fold ; 
Such a regal show 
Is rare, I trow. 
Save on the banks where violets grow. 
SYMPATHY FOR FLOWERS. 
Oh ! spare the flowers, the fair young flowers. 
The free glad gift the summer brings; 
Bright children of the sun and showers. 
Here do they rise, earth’s offerings. 
Rich be the dew upon you shed, 
Green be the bough that o’er you waves, 
Weariless watchers by the dead. 
Unblenching dwellers ’midst the gi-aves ! 
Oh ! spare the flowers ! their sweet perfume. 
Upon the wandering zephyr cast. 
And lingering o’er the lowly tomb. 
Is like the memory of the past. 
