5 ° 
The Poetry of Flowers. 
Whose kindness (though far, far removed) 
My grateful thoughts perceive, 
Pride of my life, esteemed, beloved, 
My last sad claim receive ! 
Oh ! do not quite your friend forget, 
Forget alone her faults ; 
And speak of her with fond regret 
Who asks your lingering thoughts. 
THE LITTLE RED ROSE. 
FROM GOETHE. 
A boy caught sight of a Rose in a bower— 
A little Rose slily hiding 
Among the boughs ; oh! the Rose was bright 
And young, and it glimmered like morning light. 
The urchin sought it with haste ; ’twas a flower 
A child indeed might take pride in— 
A little Rose, little Rose, little red Rose, 
Among the bushes hiding. 
The wild boy shouted—“ I’ll pluck thee, Rose, 
Little Rose vainly hiding 
Among the boughs ; " but the little Rose spoke— 
“I’ll prick thee, and that will prove no joke ; 
Unhurt, oh ! then will I mock thy woes, 
Whilst thou thy folly are chiding.” 
Little Rose, little Rose, little red Rose, 
Among the bushes hiding! 
But the rude boy laid his hands on the flower, 
The little Rose vainly hiding 
Among the boughs ; oh ! the Rose was caught, 
But it turned again, and pricked and fought, 
