POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
59 
FIELD FLOWERS. 
Flowers of the field, how meet ye seem 
Man’s frailty to pourtray ; 
Blooming so fair ’neath morning’s beam, 
Passing at eve away; 
Teach this, and oh! though brief your reign, 
Sweet flowers, ye shall not live in vain. 
Go, form a monitory wreath 
For youth’s unthinking brow; 
Go, and to busy manhood breathe 
What most he fears to know; 
Go, strew the path where age doth tread, 
And tell him of the silent dead. 
But whilst to thoughtless ones, and gay, 
Ye breathe these truths severe ; 
To those who droop ’neath pale decay 
Have ye no word of cheer ? 
Yes, yes, ye weave a double spell, 
And life and death betoken well. 
Go then where, wrapt in fear and gloom, 
Fond hearts and true are sighing, 
And deck with emblematic bloom 
The pillow of the dying ; 
And softly speak, nor speak in vain, 
Of your long sleep and broken chain. 
