THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
ANACREON TO THE ROSE. 
W hile we invoke the wreathed spring, 
Resplendent Rose ! to thee we’ll sing, 
Resplendent Rose ! the flower of floww, 
Whose breath perfumes Olympus’ bow©**, 
Whose virgin blush, of chasten’d dye, 
Enchants so much our mortal eye, 
Oft has the poet’s magic tongue 
The Rose’s fair luxuriance sung ; 
And long the Muses, heavenly maids 
Have rear’d it in their tuneful shades. 
When, at the early glance of morn, 
It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 
’Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid floweret thence, 
And wipe, with tender hand, away 
The tear that on its blushes lay! 
’Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, 
Tet dropping with Aurora’s gems, 
And fresh inhale the spicy sighs 
That from the weeping buds arise. 
When revel reigns, when mirth is high 
And Bacchus beams in every eye. 
Our rosy fillets scent exhale, 
Vnd fill with balm the fainting gale ! 
Oh, there is nought in nature bright, 
Where Roses do not shed their light' 
