POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
71 
Yon bright carnation—once tby cheek 
Bent o’er it in the bud ; 
And back it gives thy blushes meek 
In one rejoicing flood ! 
That balm has treasured all thy sighs, 
That snow-drop touch’d thy brow ; 
Thus not a charm of thine shall die, 
Thy painted people vow. 
Simmons. 
TO A WILD BOSE. 
Oh, floweret wild! 
Drooping with many a glittering tear, 
The Summer’s most beloved child, 
Thou’rt welcome here! 
I speak not of thy shadowy bloom 
Which gleaming ’mid the leaves we see, 
Nor of thy soft and rich perfume, 
Sweet though it be:—• 
Thou hast a spell, 
A charm far dearer to my heart, 
The power of days long past to tell, —• 
Of hopes that would depart! 
Yes! gazing on thee now, 
Those scenes beloved can memory draw, 
When simple childhood’s hat of straw 
Shaded my careless brow: 
