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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Unfold thy robes of purest white, 
Unsullied from their darksome grave, 
And thy soft petals’ silvery light 
In the mild breeze unfettered wave. 
So Faith shall seek the lowly dust 
Where humble Sorrow loves to lie, 
An d hid her thus her hopes entrust, 
And watch with patient, cheerful eye; 
And bear the long, cold wintry night, 
And hear her own degraded doom, 
And wait till Heaven’s reviving light, 
Eternal Spring! shall burst the gloom. 
Mrs. Tighe. 
FLOWEES. 
Spare full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Ehine, 
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
Stars, that in earth’s firmament do shine. 
Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 
As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, 
Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 
Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 
