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40 THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. 
LAUREL, MOUNTAIN. 
If but ungenerous thoughts prevail 
When thou her bosom wouldst assail. 
While tenderness atid warmth do ne’er. 
AMBITION. 
By any chance, t’ward thee appear? 
C. F. Hop pm an. 
Thou callest me the glorious Sun; 
Then thou the Moon shall he; 
For idle all the lame I've won. 
Unless conferred on thee. 
-♦ - 
LICHEN. 
I only covet dazzling light. 
-* 
That I may see thee shine; 
DEJECTION. 
And gladly hide myself from sight. 
To leave the world all thine 1 
I would not stay for ever here. 
In this sad world of care and pain ; 
Then think not I forget thee, love. 
I would not have life linger on, 
Though high my course may be ; 
Or give my thoughts to earth again. 
Not mine the laurel w reath they've wove— 
I long to close my tearful eyes. 
1 won it, love, for thee l 
Recline my weary, aching head 
Upon the couch where all is peace. 
-♦ - 
And rest among the early dead. 
* * • * 
LEMON BLOSSOM. 
Inw ove with many a darkening thread 
A native of warm climates. Flowers small, pink. 
The texture of my life appears; 
How vain were all its sweetest hopes. 
DISCRETION. 
How more than bitter were its tears ! 
Miss M. A. Dodd. 
’Tis better, far, than beauty, or the grace 
That captivates the eye, that sober charm 
Of tlilne, which o’er thy words and deeds 
- 4 - 
Keeps constant vigilance. A steward, thou, 
LILAC, PURPLE. 
Faithful to the best riches of thy soul; 
And he who puts his trust in one like thee. 
Too well known to need description. Flowers purple 
’Mid all his cares will find unbroken rest. 
and white. 
--- 
FIRST EMOTION OF I.OYE. 
LETTUCE. 
How sweet and rapturous 'tis to feel 
Ourselves exalted in a lovely soul 1— 
A common garden vegetable. Flowers greenish white. 
To know our joys make glow another’s cheek. 
Our fears do tremble in another's heart. 
Our sufferings bedew another’s eye ! 
Schiller. 
COLD-IIKARTED. 
As the little floweret hideth 
What matters all the nobleness 
By the woodland stream. 
Which in her breast rcsideth. 
So in youthful hearts abideth 
And what the warmth and tenderness 
Love's first witching dream. 
Her mien of coldness hideth, 
Miss J. A. Fietcher. 
L 
