64 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
“ Nor thee the vagrants of the field; 
The hamlet’s little train behold ; 
Their eyes to sweet oppression yield, 
When thine the falling shades unfold. 
Nor thee the hasty shepherd heeds, 
When love has fill’d his heart with carest 
For flowers he rifles all the meads ; 
For walking flowers—but thine forbears. 
Ah! waste no more that beauteous bloom, 
On night’s chill shade that fragrant breath 
Let smiling suns those gems illume ? 
Fair flower ! to live unseen is death !” 
Soft as the voice of vernal gales 
That o’er the bending meadows blow, 
Or streams that steal through even vales, 
And murmur that they move so slow. 
Deep in her unfrequented bower, 
Sweet Philomela pour’d her strain ; 
The bird of eve approved her flower, 
And answer’d thus the anxious swain :-*• 
“Live unseen I 
By moonlight shades, in valleys green, 
Lovely flower, we’ll live unseen. 
Of our pleasures deem not lightly, 
Laughing day may look more sprightly 
