DROPS FROM FLORA’S COP. 117 
A THOUGHT OF THE ROSE. 
MRS. HEMANS. 
How much of memory dwells amidst thy bloom, 
Rose! ever wearing beauty for thy dower! 
The bridal day — the festival — the tomb, — 
Thou hast thy part in each, thou stateliest flower; 
Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by 
A thousand images of love and grief, 
Dreams, filled with tokens of mortality, 
Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief. 
Not such thv spells o’erthosethathailed thee first, 
In the clear light of Eden’s golden day! 
There thy rich leaves to crimson glory burst, 
Linked with no dim remembrance of decay. 
Rose! for the banquet gathered and the bier! 
Rose! colored now by human hope or pain; 
Surely where death is not —nor change, nor fear, 
Yet may we meet thee, Joy's own flower, again. 
