168 THE FOETH OF FLOWERS. 
THE ROSES. 
BY BOWRIWG. 
I saw them once blowing, 
While morning was glowing; 
But now are their wither’d leaves strew’d o’er the 
ground, 
For tempests to play on, 
For cold worms to prey on, 
The shame of the garden that triumphs around. 
Their buds which then flourish’d, 
With dew-drops were nourish’d. 
Which turn’d into pearls as they fell frormon high ■ 
Their hues are all banish’d, 
Their fragrance all vanish’d, 
Ere evening a shadow has cast from the sky. 
I saw, too, whole races 
Of glories and graces 
Thus open and blossom, but quickly decay; 
And smiling and gladness, 
In sorrow and sadness, 
Ere life reach’d its twilight, fade dimly away, 
Joy’s light-hearted dances^ 
And me.ody’s glances, 
