014, LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 245 
Morn impearl thy leaves with dews ; 
Evening lend them rosy hues, 
Mom with snow-white splendour bless, 
Night with glow-worm jewels dress; 
Thus fulfil thy Summer-day, 
Spring, and flourish, and decay; 
Live a life of fragrance—then 
Disappear—to rise again, 
When thy sisters of the vale, 
Welcome back the nightingale. 
So may she whose name I write, 
Be herself a flower of light, 
Live a life of innocence, 
Die—to be transported hence, 
To that garden in the skies, 
Where the Lily never dies. Montgomery. 
TO A LOVER OF FLOWERS. 
Still, gentle lady, cherish flowers— 
True fairy friends are they, 
On whom, of all thy cloudless hours, 
Not one is thrown away; 
By them, unlike man’s ruder race, 
No care conferr’d is spurned, 
But all thy fond and fostering grace 
A thousand-fold return’d. 
