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THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side, 
Emblems of punishment and pride, 
Grouped their dark hues with every stain, 
The weather-beaten crags retain. 
With boughs that quaked at every breath, 
Grey birch and aspen wept beneath; 
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock; 
And higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, 
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, 
His boughs athwart the narrowed sky, 
Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, 
Where glistening streamers waved and danced 
The wanderer’s eye could barely view 
The summer heaven’s delicious blue; 
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 
WOOD SORREL.— Joy. 
Wood Sorrel is by some thought to be the true 
Shamrock—the emblem of the Irish nation, and the 
badge of the Order of St. Patrick. As a national 
emblem Moore thus emphasizes it:— 
Where’er they pass, a triple grass 
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, 
As softly green, as emerald seen 
Through purest crystal gleaming. 
O the Shamrock, the green immortal Shamrock ! 
Chosen Leaf of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin’s native Shamrock ! 
