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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
It joys and cheers, whene’er I see 
Pain on Earth’s meek ones press, 
To think the storm that rends the tree 
Scathes not thy lowliness. 
And thus may human weakness find, 
E’en in thy lowly flower, 
An image cheering to the mind 
In many a trying hour. 
THE VIOLET. 
ii. 
Sweet flower! Spring’s earliest loveliest gem! 
While other flowers are idly sleeping, 
Thou rearest thy purple diadem; 
Meekly from thy seclusion peeping. 
Thou, from thy little secret mound, 
Where diamond dew-drops shine above thee, 
Scatterest thy modest fragrance round ; 
And well may Nature’s Poet love thee ! 
Thine is a short swift reign I know— 
But here thy spirit still pervading, 
New Violet tufts again shall blow, 
Then fade away as thou art fading, 
