102 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Through dewy leaves, of many a wild perfume 
Greeting the wanderer of the hill and grove 
Like sudden music; more than this ye bring— 
Far more ; ye whisper of the all-fostering love 
"Winch thus hath clothed you, and whose dove-like 
wing 
I 
Broods o’er the sufferer drawing fevered breath, 
Whether the couch be that of life or death. 
Mrs. Hemahs. 
THE LAST AUTUMN FLOWER. 
The last autumn flower 
Is withered and dead, 
And has bowed to the tempest 
Its beautiful head; 
Its leaves are all faded, 
Its loveliness flown, 
In the place where it flourished 
No more is it known. 
It awakened to life 
In the glory of Spring, 
When earth’s beauties were rife, 
And the bee on the wing; 
And it smiled in the sunbeam, 
And danced in the breeze, 
When summer shone brightly 
On flowers and trees. 
