THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
HEART’S EASE. 
ANON. 
I used to love thee, simple flower, 
To love thee dearly when a boy ; 
For thou didst seem in childhood’s hour, 
The smiling type of childhood’s joy. 
But now thou only work’st my grief, 
By waking thoughts of pleasures fled. 
Give me, give me the withered leaf, 
That falls on Autumn’s bosom dead. 
For that ne’er tells of what has been, 
But warns me what I soon shall be; 
It looks not back on pleasure’s scene, 
But points unto futurity. 
I love thee not, thou simple flower, 
For thou art gay, and I am lone; 
Thy beauty died with childhood’s hour— 
The heart’s-ease from my path is gone. 
