204 
TILE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
THE DAHLIA. 
MARTIN. 
Trough severed from its native clime, 
Where skies are ever bright and clear, 
And nature’s face is all sublime, 
And beauty clothes the fragrant air, 
The Dahlia will each glory wear, 
With tints as bright, and leaves as green; 
And winter in his savage mien, 
May breathe forth storm,—yet she will bear 
With all:—and in the summer ray, 
With blossoms deck the brow of day. 
And thus the soul—if fortune cast 
Its lot to live in scenes less bright,— 
Should bloom amidst the adverse blast;—■ 
Nor suffer sorrow’s clouds to blight 
Its outward beauty—inward light. 
Thus should she live and flourish still, 
Though misery’s frost might strive to kill 
The germ of hope within her quite :—- 
Thus should she hold each beauty fast, 
And bud and blosom to the last. 
