THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 239 
And when the rude hands the twin buds Bever 
They die, and they shall blossom never; 
Yet the thorns be sharp as over; 
Just like Love 
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“GO TO THE FOREST SHADE.” 
BY MRS. HEMANS. 
Go to the forest shade- 
Seek thou the well known glade. 
Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie, 
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, 
Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep, 
And bathed in hues of summer’s midnight sky. 
Bring me their buds, to shed 
Around my dying bed 
A breath of May, and of the wood’s repose; 
For I in sooth depart 
With a reluctant heart, 
That fain would linger where the bright sun glows. 
Fain would I stay with thee— 
Alas ! this may not be , 
V et bring me still the gifts of happier houro! 
Go where the fountain’s breast 
Catches, in glassy rest, 
The dim green light that pours through laurel 
lowers. 
