66 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS. 
MRS. HEMANS. 
Children of night! unfolding meekly, slowly, 
To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours, 
When dark-blue heavens look softest and most 
holy, 
And glowworm light is in the forest bowers; 
To solemn things and deep, 
To spirit-haunted sleep, 
To thoughts, all purified 
From earth, ye seem allied; 
O dedicated flowers! 
Te, from the gaze of crowds your beauty veiling, 
Keep in dim vestral urns the sweetness shrined: 
Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing, 
Looks on you tenderly, and sadly kind. 
— So doth love’s dreaming heart 
Dwell from the throng apart, 
And but to shades disclose 
The inmost thought which glows 
With its pure life entwined. 
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