POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
101 
But should we find thee withered, reft 
Even of the humble charms thou hast, 
We feel a fragrant sweetness left— 
A sweetness that no ills can blast. 
Thus modest worth remains unknown, 
While fairer beauty’s flattered name 
On every zephyr’s breath is blown. 
A candidate for human fame. 
Let sorrow come — mere beauty now 
Has lost its adventitious power: 
While chill’d, or bruised, or broken, thou 
Art fragrant in that trying hour. 
SONNET. 
From “ Thoughts during Sickness.” 
Welcome, 0 pure and lovely forms, again 
Unto the shadowy stillness of my room ! 
For not alone ye bring a joyous train 
Of Summer-thoughts attendant on your bloom- 
Visions of freshness, of rich bowery gloom, 
Of the low murmurs filling mossy dells, 
Of stars that look down on your folded bells ; 
M. 
