THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
ir? 
The skies look’d coldly down 
As on a royal crown; 
Then, drop by drop, at leisure. 
Began to rain for pleasure. 
Whereat the earth did seem 
To waken from a dream, 
Winter frozen, winter frozen, 
Her anguish eyes unclosing. 
Said to the rose, “ Ha, Snow ! 
And art thou fallen so ? 
Thou who wert enthroned statelv 
Along my mountains lately. 
“Holla, thou world-wide snow 
And art thou wasted so ? 
With a little bough to catch thee 
And a little bee to watch thee ?” 
Poor rose, to be niisknown ! 
Would she had ne’er been blown, 
In her loneness, in her loneness, 
All the sadder for that oneness. 
Some words she tried to say, 
Some sigh—ah, well away! 
But the passion did o’ercome her, 
And the fair frail leaves dropp’d from he; 
