POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
55 
Of our pleasures deem not lightly ; 
Laughing day may look more sprightly, 
But I love the modest mien, 
Still I love the modest mien 
Of gentle evening fair, and her star-trained queen. 
“ Didst thou, shepherd, never find 
Pleasure is of pensive kind ? 
Has thy cottage never known 
That she loves to live alone ? 
Dost thou not, at evening hour, 
Feel some soft and secret power, 
Gilding o’er thy yielding mind, 
Leave sweet serenity behind; 
While, all disarm’d, the cares of day 
Steal through the falling gloom away ? 
Love to think thy lot was laid 
In this undistinguish’d shade. 
Far from the world’s infectious view, 
Thy little virtues safely blew. 
Go, and in day’s more dangerous hour 
Guard thy emblematic flower.” 
Langhorxe. 
THE WITHERED FLOWER. 
I’ve often seen the opening flower 
Hold up its little head, 
And looked again in one short hour, 
But then I found it dead. 
