POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
25 
But, oh! how soon its sweets are gone 
How soon it withering lies! 
So, when the eve of life coines on, 
Sweet beauty fades and dies. 
Then since the fairest form that’s made 
Soon withering we shall find, 
Let us possess what ne’er will fade— 
The beauties of the mind. 
C. J. Fox. 
THE ROSE. 
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The Rose had been washed, just washed in a shower 
Which Mary to Anna conveyed ; 
The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower, 
And weighed down its beautiful head. 
The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet, 
And it seemed, to a fanciful view, 
To weep for the buds it had left with regret, 
On the flourishing bush where it grew. 
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was 
For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned, 
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! 
I snapped it—it fell to the ground. 
