THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
147 
My grave shall be in yon lone spot, 
Where, as I lie, by all forgot, 
A dying fragrance thou wilt o’er my ashes shed. 
SEA THRIFT.— Sympathy. 
From the border lines, 
Composed of daisy and resplendent Thrift, 
Flowers straggling forth had on those paths en¬ 
croached, 
Which they were used to deck. 
Wordsworth. 
THE SENSITIVE PLANT.— Bashfulness. 
Shelley has given us an exquisite picture of this 
singular plant:— 
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, 
And the young winds fed it with silver dew, 
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night. 
*####* 
But none ever trembled and panted with bliss 
In the garden, the field, or the wilderness. 
Like doe in the noontide with love’s sweet want, 
As the companionless Sensitive Plant. \ 
The snowdrop, and then the violet, 
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet, 
And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent, 
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument. 
Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, 
And narcissi, the fairest among them all, 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream’s recess, 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness. 
