138 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
LOVE’S WITHERED FLOWERS. 
WALTER COLTON. 
These faded flowers a softer grief 
Than blooming ones beget; 
More tender now on each pale leaf 
The tints that linger yet; 
For all the charms that cheered the past, 
Hang round these hues that fade the last. 
The morn they had their fragrant birth, 
The wild shrubs where they grew, 
The bee, that in its matin mirth, 
Hung o’er their pearls of dew, 
Must share alike the floweret’s lot, 
And bo with frailer things forgot. 
Not thus with thee in that dim day, 
When like the breath of flowers, 
The spirit leaves its vase of clay ; 
For love in those lone hours, 
Shall treasure up thy gentle worth, 
And warm remembrance call it forth. 
And in a brighter, purer sphere, 
Beyond the sunless tomb, 
The virtues that have charmed us here, 
In fadeless life shall bloom; 
And win from faith the fervid prayer, 
To meet thy sainted spirit there. 
