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THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
The earliest snow-drop there shall spring, 
And lark delight to fold his wing ; 
And roses pale, and lilies fair, 
With perfume load the summer air! 
Adieu, my babe ! if life were long. 
This would be even a heavier song ; 
But years, like phantoms, quickly pass. 
They look to us from memory’s glass. 
Soon on death s couch shall I recline; 
Soon shall my head be laid with thine ; 
And sunder’d spirits meet above, 
To live for evermore in love. 
—»- 
THE ROSE. 
TRANSLATED I ROM CAMOEN8 
Jrsr like love is yonder rose:— 
Heavenly fragrance round it throws, 
Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose, 
And in the midst of briers it blows ; 
J ust like Love, 
Cull’d to bloom upon the breast, 
Since rough thorns the stem invest, 
They must be gather'd with the rest, 
And with it to the heart be prest; 
Just like Lovo. 
