z« THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. 
And many an antenatal tomb. 
Where butterflies dream of the life to coma, 
She left clinging round the smooth and dark 
Edge of the odorous cedar bark. 
This fairest creature from earliest spring 
Thus moved through the garden ministering, 
All the sweet season of the summer-tide, 
And ere the first leaf look’d brown—she died 
part in. 
Three days the flowers of the garden fair, 
Like stars when the noon is awaken’d, were, 
Or the waves of the Baits, ere luminous 
She floats up through the smoke of Vesuvius. 
And on the fourth, the sensitive plant 
belt the sound of the funeral chant, 
And the steps of the bearers, heavy and slow, 
And the sobs of the mourners, deep and low. 
The weary sound and the heavy breath, 
And the silent molions of passing death, 
And the smell, cold, oppressive, and dank, 
Sent through the pores of the coffin plank 
The dark grass, and the flowers among the crass 
Were bright with tears as the crowds did pass • ' 
