12 
The Poetry of Flowers. 
FLOWERS: 
SENT ME DURING ILLNESS. 
BY RICHARD H. DANA. 
I loved you ever, gentle flowers, 
And made you playmates of my youth ; 
The while your spirit stole 
In secret to my soul, 
To shed a softness through my ripening powers, 
And lead the thoughtful mind to deepest truth. 
And now, when weariness and pain 
Had cast you almost from my breast, 
With each a smiling face, 
In all your simple grace, 
You come once more to take me back again 
From pain to ease, from weariness to rest. 
Kind visitants ! through my sick-room 
You seem to breathe an air of health, 
And with you looks of joy 
To wake again the boy , 
And to the pallid cheek restore its bloom, 
And o'er the desert mind pour boundless wealth. 
And whence ye came, by brimming stream, 
’Neath rustling leaves, with birds within, 
Again I musing tread— 
Forgot my restless bed, 
And long sick hours—Too short the blessed 
dream! 
I woke to pain !—to hear the city’s din ! 
