TLE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
189 
But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
The bloom of a fine summer’s day ! 
While worth in the mind o’ my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 
-«- 
THE OEANGE-BOUGH, 
BY MRS. HEMANS. 
Oh ! bring me one sweet Orange-bough, 
To fan my cheek, to cool my brow; 
One bough, with pearly blossoms drest, 
And bind it, Mother! on my breast! 
Go seek ths grove along the shore, 
Whose odours I must breathe no more, 
The grove where every scented tree 
Thrills to the deep voice of the sea. 
Oh ! Love’s fond sighs, and fervent praye? 
And wild farewell, are lingering there, 
Each leaf’s light whisper hath a tone. 
My faint heart, even in death, would own. 
Then bear me thence one bough, to shed 
Life’s parting sweetness round my head, 
And bind it, Mother! on my breast 
When I am laid in lonely rest. 
