140 DltOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
ROSE BUD. 
MRS. NORTON. 
Love not! love not! ye hapless sons of clay, 
Hope’s gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers: 
Things that are made to fade and fall away, 
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. 
Love not! love not! The things you love may die. 
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth — 
The silent stone, the blue and smiling sky, 
Beams on its grave, as once upon its birth. 
Love not! love not! The thing you love may 
change; 
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you; 
The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange, 
The heart still warmly beat yet not be true. 
Love not! love not! 0, warning vainly said: 
In present hours, as iri years gone by, 
Love flings a halo round the dear one’s head, 
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. 
