THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
43 
Not thus With thee in that dim day, 
When, like the breath of flowers, 
Thy spirit leaves its vase of clay, 
For love in those lone hours, 
Shall treasure up thy gentle worth, 
And warm remembrance call it forth, 
And in a brighter, purer sphere, 
Beyond the sunless tomb— 
The virtues, that have charmed us here, 
In fadeless life shall bloom ; 
And win from faith the fervid prayer, 
To meet thy sainted spirit there. 
— «- 
TO THE HOSE. 
BY C. P. CRANCH. 
Dear flower of heaven and love ! Thou glorious 
thing 
That lookest out the garden nooks among: 
Rose, that art ever fair and ever young ; 
Was it some angel or invisible wing 
Hovered around thy fragrant sleep, to fling 
His glowing mantle of warm sunset hues 
O’er thy unfolding petals, wet with dews 
Such as the flower-fays to Titania bring ? 
0 flower of thousand memories and dreams, 
That take the heart with faintness, while we gaze 
