The Poetry of Flowers. 
*3 
But time nor pain shall ever steal 
Or youth or beauty from my mind ; 
And blessings on ye, flowers, 
Though few with me your hours, 
The youth and beauty and the heart to feel, 
In her who sent you, ye will leave behind ! 
THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
BY SHELLEY. 
PART I. 
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, 
And the young winds fed it with silver dew ; 
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
And closed them beneath the kisses of night. 
And the spring arose on the garden fair, 
Like the spirit of love, felt everywhere ! 
And each flower and herb on earth's dark breast 
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest. 
The Snowdrop, and then the Violet, 
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet ; 
And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent 
From the turf, like the voice to the instrument. 
Then the pied Wind-flowers, and the Tulip tall, 
And Narcissi, the fairest among them all— 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream’s recess, 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness! 
And the naiad-like Lily of the Vale, 
Whom youth makes so fair, and passions so pale, 
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen 
Through their pavilions of tender green. 
