The Poetry of Flowers. 
129 
Dissembling what I knew too well, 
“ My love, my life,” said I, “explain 
This change of humour : pr’ythee tell: 
That falling tear—what does it mean?” 
She sighed : she smiled : and to the flowers 
Pointing, the lovely moralist said— 
‘ See, friend, in some few fleeting hours, 
See yonder, what a change is made. 
1 Ah me ! the blooming pride of May, 
And that of beauty, are but one: 
At morn both flourished bright and gay ; 
Both fade at evening, pale and gone. 
‘ At dawn poor Stella danced and sung, 
The amorous youth around her bowed j 
At night her fatal knell was rung ; 
I saw, and kissed her in her shroud. 
‘ Such as she is, who died to-day, 
Such I, alas ! may be to-morrow ; 
Go, Damon, bid the Muse display 
The justice of thy Chloe’s sorrow.” 
THE FIELD-FLOWER. 
BY MONTGOMERY. 
There is a flower, a little flower, 
With silver crest and golden eye, 
That welcomes every changing hour, 
And weathers every sky. 
The prouder beauties of the field 
In gay but quick succession shine, 
Race after race their honours yield, 
They flourish and decline. 
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