OR, LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 
251 
SONG OF THE POPPY 
When the clouds of sin and sorrow 
Gather round thy guileless heart, 
And the dawn of each new morrow 
Nought but anguish can impart; 
When saddening moments thou would’st rue, 
If thy heart be fond and true, 
I will offer solace. 
When the look of cold disdain 
Comes where you expected gladness, 
And the pangs of piercing pain 
Steep thy soul in gloom and sadness; 
If thou’st done no deed to rue, 
And thy heart be fresh and true, 
I will give thee solace. 
If the icy hand of death 
Should fall on those you hold the dearest, 
To seal for aye the fleeting breath 
Of that one heart for which thou carest; 
Yet though days be short and few, 
If thou still art fond and true, 
I will give thee solace. 
But I go, for wintry weather 
Treads upon the brink of summer, 
And all the flower sprites together, 
Meet to greet each angel-comer; 
So farewell, where'er thou be, 
If thy heart from sin be free 
Within it will be solace. 
