POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
105 
I love to watch at silent eve 
Thy scatter’d blossoms’ lonely light, 
And have my inmost heart receive 
The influence of that sight. 
I love at such an hour to mark 
Their beauty greet the night-breeze chill, 
And shine, ’mid shadows gathering dark, 
The garden’s glory still. 
For such ’tis sweet to thine the while, 
When cares and griefs the breast invade, 
To friendship’s animating smile 
In sorrow’s dark’ning shade. 
Thus it bursts forth, like that pale cup 
Glist’ning amid its dewy tears, 
And boars the sinking spirit up 
Amid its chilling fears. 
But still more animating far, 
If meek Religion's eye may trace, . 
Even in thy glimm’ring iarth-born star, 
The holier hope of Grace. 
The hope—that as thy beauteous bloom 
Expands to glad the close of day, 
So through the shadows of the tomb 
May break forth Mercy’s ray. 
