I» 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
SWEET LAVENDER. 
BY MISS STRICKLAND. 
Sweet lavender! I love thy flower 
Of meek and modest blue, 
Which meets the morn and evening hour, 
The storm, the sunshine, and the shower, 
And changeth not its hue. 
In cottage-maid’s parterre thou’rt seen, 
In simple touching grace ; 
And in the garden of the queen, 
’Midst costly plants and blossoms sheen, 
Thou also hast a place. 
The rose, with bright and peerless blooiUj 
Attracted many eyes; 
But while her glories and perfume 
Expire before brief summer’s doom, 
Thy fragrance never dies. 
Thou art not like the fickle tram 
Our adverse fates estrange; 
Who, in the day of grief and pain, 
Are found deceitful, light, and vain, 
For thou dost never change. 
