SENT1 M E N T OF FLOWERS. 22 y 
TO AN AUTUMN ROSE. 
Tell her I love her—love her for those eyes, 
Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth, 
Which (like a lake reflecting Autumn skies) 
Reveal two heavens here to us on earth. 
The one in which their soulful beauty lies, 
And that wherein such soulfulness has birth. 
To to my lady ere the season flies. 
And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast— 
Go ! and with all of eloquence thou hast, 
The burning story of my love discover; 
And if the theme should fail, alas ! to move her, 
Tell her, when youth’s gay summer flowers are past. 
Like thee, my love will blossom till the last! 
Charles F. Hoffman. 
Others ! the world lies crumbled at my feet. 
She was my all, filled up my whole of being, 
Smiled in the sunshine, walked the glorious earth, 
Sat in my heart, was the sweet life of life; 
The past was hers, I dreamed not of a futurt 
That did not wear her image. 
From “Love,’ a Play 
“ This is the torch upon the tomb of Love, 
Where like a sorrowing angel Hope must sit.” 
DAISY. —Beauty and Innocence. 
Oh ! beautiful upon his sight, 
Who bears a heart like mine, 
Doth shine the soft unconscious light 
Of loveliness like thine. 
A wearied man seeks not the smiles 
That brightly beam on all, 
For dearer are thy simple wiles 
That only one enthral. 
L. F 
21* 
