74 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Eternally to last: 
It is—to hallow, whilst regret 
Is busy with their actions yet, 
The sweetnesses they cast; 
To sanctify upon the earth 
The glory of departed worth. Anon. 
0 SPARE MY FLOWER. 
0 spare my flower—my gentle flower, 
The slender creature of a day! 
Let it bloom out its little hour, 
And pass away. 
Too soon its fleeting charms must lie 
Decay’d, unnoticed, overthrown: 
0 hasten not its destiny— 
Too like thy own. 
The breeze will roam this way to-morrow, 
And sigh to find its play-mate gone; 
The bee will come its sweets to borrow, 
And meet with none. 
0 spare! and let it still outspread 
Its beauties to the passing eye, 
And look up from its lowly bed 
Upon the sky. 
0 spare my flower ! thou know’st not what 
Thy undiscerning hand would tear — 
