194 POETEY OF FLOWERS. 
With beauty sweeter from surrounding gloom, 
A star-like ray. 
So in life’s last decline, 
When the grave shadows are around me cast, 
My spirit’s hope may like thy blossom shine 
Bright at the last : 
And, as the grateful scent 
Of thy meek flower, the memory of thy name, 
Oh ! who could wish for prouder monument. 
Or purer fame ? 
The darkness of the grave 
Would wear no gloom appalling to the sight, 
Might Hopes fair blossom,like thy flowret. brave 
Death’s wintry night. 
Knowing the dawn drew nigh 
Of an eternal though a sunless day, 
Whose glorious flowers must bloom immortally, 
Nor fear decay ! 
THE CROPPED FLOWER. 
Go, lovely flower! 
Tell her, who fills my every thought. 
That from the hour 
