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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Have seen the sun-beams cold and pale, 
Have felt the chilling, wintry gale, 
And wept, and shrunk like thee! 
Mary Robinson. 
THE SNOWDROP. 
ii. 
A thousand bright flowers shall gladden the Earth, 
When Summer comes forth in her beauty and mirth; 
Yet none more delightful imaginings bring, 
Than those that are first in our pathway to Spring. 
Undaunted thou comest, ’mid snow and ’mid sleet. 
From Earth’s sheltering bosom, thy winter retreat; 
Thou comest, the herald of pleasures to be, 
Of the scent of the rose-bud, the hum of the bee. 
Thou art not of those who delight in the rays, 
The sunny resplendence of Summer’s glad days • 
Nor of those who lookup to the bright skies of June, 
Yet fold up their beauty beneath the mild moon. 
Of such art not thou—no, an emblem more dear, 
Of the friend that is kindest when sorrow is near; 
The storm doth not crush thee—the rain doth not 
blight— 
And thou pointest, like Hope, to a season more bright. 
M. 
