THE YASE OF FLOWERS. 
BY IANTHE. 
Gay treasure-house of every sweet. 
Where loveliness and perfume meet; 
Where beauty of each form and dye 
Wooes the young breeze with tresses fly in 
And pouring forth its bosom sigh, 
Is far more cherished for its sighing— 
Here the proud heart may lessons find 
Of lowliness and peace of mind ; 
May hear of fame and meekness met 
In the retiring Violet: 
Here flowers which court the warm Sun’s 
And die in its too ardent gaze, 
Whisper a moral, if we turn 
When Nature speaks, to hear and learn. 
Each bursting bud, each opening leaf 
Some emblem yields of joy or grief. 
How like the heart wherein are cast 
Bright hopes too fair and frail to last, 
Are all the fresh and fragrant flowers 
That blossom in this world of ours. 
They bloom to fade—but fade to bloom, 
While virtue will survive the tomb. 
