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THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
The frowns that on your brow resided, 
Have those roses thus divided. 
Oh ! let your smiles but clear the weather, 
And then they both shall grow together. 
Wordsworth also rejoices in this happy change :— 
The Red Rose is a gladsome flower. 
Her thirty years of winter past, the Red Rose is re-> 
vived at last; 
She lifts her head for endless Spring, for everlasting 
blossoming; 
Both Roses flourish, Red and White; in love and sis¬ 
terly delight, 
The two that were at strife are blended, and all old 
troubles now are ended. 
THE ROSE.— Beauty. 
Moore rapturously sings of the Rose 
Rose! thou art the sweetest flower, that ever dram 
the amber shower; 
Rose! thou art the fondest child of dimpled Spring, 
the wood-nymph wild! 
And again:— 
While we invoke the wreathed Spring, resplendent 
Rose ! to thee we’ll sing; 
Resplendent Rose, the flower of flowers, whose breath 
perfumes Olympus’ bowers; 
Whose virgin blush, of chastened dye, enchants so 
much our mortal eye. 
He then goes on to say:— 
