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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Patriots with the sunbeams shine; 
Poets bud verse with the flowers! 
Love of country grows divine ; 
Poems chime in with the hours ; 
Every thing is sweet and young, 
Every thing is in its prime, 
Music voices every tongue 
In Primrose Time, in Primrose Time ! 
THE FLOWER SPIRIT. 
When earth was in its golden prime. 
Ere grief or gloom had marred its hue, 
And Paradise, unknown to crime. 
Beneath the love of angels grew, 
Each flower was then a spirit’s home. 
Each tree a living shrine of song; 
And oh ! that ever hearts could roam,— 
Could quit for sin that seraph throng ! 
But there the spirit lingers yet. 
Though dimness o’er our visions fall! 
And flowers that seem with dew-drops wet. 
Weep angel’s tears for human thrall; 
And sentiments and feelings move 
The soul, like oracles divine; 
And hearts that ever bow’d to love, 
First found it by the flowers’ sweet shrine. 
