197 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
And though thy wintry doom may seem severe, 
Uncheered by song of birds, or kindred flower, 
I do believe thou dost not blossom here. 
But by the will of that Almighty Power, 
Who makes thy fragile blooms an instrument 
To teach a proud and murmuring heart content. 
THE GOLDEN ROSE.* 
‘ Sister, wake ! ’tis surely morning : listen, I can 
hear the bees 
Humming underneath the window, in the fragrant 
lilac-trees. 
There it comes! the wandering sunbeam I have 
watched so many a time. 
Creeping in the same dark corner at the early 
morning chime. 
‘ Oh the night is very weary unto those who lie 
and moan. 
And who only know the day-time by the slow 
hours stealing on— 
By the small blue rift of heaven gleaming through 
the curtained pane. 
By the warbling birds that waken to their daily 
life again. 
* In ancient Germany it was the custom for a bride¬ 
groom to send or bring to his betrothed a golden rose, 
as a token that he was about to claim her. 
