22 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
’Twas I who breath’d the sweet perfume, 
I shed the rich luxuriant bloom; 
And when the bud in embryo lay, 
I chased the nipping blight away. 
’Twas I the silken texture spun: 
Now my work is all undone; 
An d now I mourn my fairest flower, 
The glory of my summer bower. 
Hemans. 
BRING FLOWERS. 
Bring Flowers, young Flowers, for the festal hoard, 
To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured; 
Bring Flowers!—they are springing in wood and vale, 
Their breath floats out in the southern gale, 
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the Rose, 
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows. 
Bring Flowers to strew in the conqueror’s path— 
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath! 
He comes with the spoil of nations back, 
The vine lies crushed in his chariot’s track, 
The turf looks red where he won the day— 
Bring Flowers to die in the conqueror’s way! 
Bring Flowers to the captive’s lonely cell, 
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell; 
Of the free blue streams and the glowing sky, 
And the bright world shut from his languid i ye! 
