236 
7HE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Round which a luxuriant ivy had grown, 
And wreathed it with verdure no longer its own ? 
Perchance thou hast seen this sight, and then, 
As I at thy years might do, 
Passed carelessly by, nor turned again 
That scathed wreck to view. 
But now I can draw from that mouldering tree 
Thoughts which are soothing and dear to me. 
O smile nat! nor think it a worthless thing, 
If it be with instruction fraught; 
That which will closest and longest cling 
Is alone worth a serious thought! 
Should aught be unlovely which thus can shed 
Grace on the dying, and leaves on the dead ? 
