114 HUMAN FLOWERS. 
Well the tint of her cheek the young Isabel 
knows. 
For the blossom of health is the beautiful 
rose. 
And Mary, the pensive, who loves in the 
dusk 
Of the gardens, to muse when the air is all 
musk ; 
Will leave all its beauties, and many they 
are, 
To gaze meek in thought on the jessamine 
star. 
And Kate, the light butterfly Kate, ever gay, 
Will choose the first blossom that comes in 
her way: 
The eistus will please her a moment, and 
then 
Away will she flutter, and settle again. 
But Julia for me, with her heart in her eyes, 
The child of the summer, too warm to be 
wise: 
Is the passion-flower near her, with tendrils 
close curled, 
She can smile whilst she suffers; ’tis hers 
for the world. 
J 
