102 
THE LANGUAGE OE FLOWERS. 
THE WALLFLOWER. 
MOIR. 
The wallflower—the wallflower, 
How beautiful it blooms ! 
It gleams above the ruined tower, 
Like sunlight over tombs ! 
It sheds a halo of repose 
Around the wrecks of time ;— 
To beauty give the flaunting rose, 
The wallflower is sublime. 
Flower of the solitary place ! 
Grey ruin’s golden crown ! 
Thou lendest melancholy grace 
To haunts of old renown ; 
Thou mantlest o’er the battlement, 
By strife or storm decayed; 
And fillest up each envious rent 
Time’s canker-tooth hath made. 
Whither hath fled the choral band 
That filled the abbey’s nave ? 
Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand 
O’er many a level grave; 
In the belfry’s crevices the dove 
Her young brood nurseth well, 
Whilst thou, lone flower ! dost shed above 
A sweet decaying smell. 
In the season of the tulip cup, 
When blossoms clothe the trees, 
How sweet to throw the lattice up, 
And scent thee on the breeze ! 
