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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Slio sigh’d; she smil’d: and to the flow’rs 
Pointing, the lovely moralist said: 
See! friend, in some few fleeting hours, 
See yonder, what a change is made. 
Ah me ! the blooming pride of May, 
And that of beauty, are but one : 
At morn both flourish bright and gay, 
both fade at evening, pale, and gone. 
At dawn poor Stella danc’d and sung; 
The am’rous youth around her bow’d: 
At night her fatal knell was rung; • 
I saw, and kiss’d her in her shroud. 
Such as she is, who dy’d to day; 
Such I, alas ! may be to-morrow : 
Go, Damon, bid thy muse display 
The justice of thy Cloe’s sorrow. 
Prior. 
THE ROSE-BUD. 
At dawn, upon its slender stem, 
An op’ning rose-bud bloom’d, 
And deck’d with many a gem 
The passing breeze perfum’d. 
I sought it at the noontide hour, 
Its gentle head reclin’d, 
And ’neath the sun’s meridian power 
I saw it fast declin’d. 
