68 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Memory and Faith, and Love so deep, 
No earthly storm can reach it more—■ 
Affection that hath ceased to weep, 
These flourish in thy bosom’s core. 
Spare then the flowers! With gentle tread 
Draw near, remembering what thou art, 
For blossoms sacred to the dead, 
Are ever springing in thy heart. 
M. A. Browne. 
TEE LIFE OF FLOWERS. 
I would, dear love! that I thy convert were 
To that strange lore.—The fair flowers dream and 
feel, 
And glad and woful, fond and scornful are ; 
And mutely conscious how the unresting wheel 
Of Time revolveth, and doth hourly steal 
Their beauty, and the heart-companionship 
Of their nectarcous kindred, that reveal 
Their souls to sunlight, and with fragrant lip 
Drink the abundant dews that from God’s eyelids drip. 
But then, I never dare another cull, 
To crush its being, and for ever end 
Its commune and its fellows beautiful: 
Ah ! no, presence and absence never blend 
A consciousness about them; or to rend 
