46 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Tricked in celestial light, 
And silver crescent bright. 
Oh ! ask thy vestal queen 
If she will thee advise, 
Where in the blessed skies 
That maiden may he seen, 
WIio hung like thee her pale head through the day, 
Love-sick, and pining for the evening ray, 
And lived a virgin chaste, amid the folly 
Of this bad world, and died of melancholy. 
Oh! tell me where she dwells, 
So on thy mournful bells 
Shall Dian nightly fling 
Her tender sighs to give thee fresh perfume, 
Her pale night-lustre to enhance thy bloom, 
And find thee tears to feed thy sorrowing. 
Anon. 
THE WINTER ROSE. 
The soft blooms of Summer are faint to the eye 
Where brightly the gay silver Medway glides by; 
And rich are the colours which Autumn adorn, 
Its gold chequer’d leaves, and its billows of corn. 
But dearest to me is the pale lonely Rose, 
Whose blossoms in Winter’s dark season unclose, 
Which smile in the rigour of Winter’s stem blast, 
And smooth the rough present by sighs of the past, 
