ii6 
The Poetry of Flowers. 
But ye are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne’er so brave ; 
And after they have shown their pride, 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 
THE EARLY PRIMROSE. 
Aske me why I send you here 
This firstling of the infant year ; 
Aske me why I send to you 
This Primrose all bepearled with dew ; 
I straight will whisper in your ears, 
The sweets of love are washt with teares. 
Aske me why this flower doth show 
So yellow, green, and sickly too ; 
Aske me why the stalk is weak 
And bending, yet it doth not break ; 
I must tell you, these discover 
What doubts and fears are in a lover. 
THE HOLLY. 
BY SOUTHEY. 
O reader ! hast thou ever stood to see 
The holly tree ? 
The eye that contemplates it well perceives 
Its glossy leaves, 
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise, 
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries. 
