DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 143 
TIIE SHADOW OF A FLOWER, 
MRS. HEMANS. 
’T was a dream of olden days, 
That Art, by some strange power. 
The visionary form could raise 
From the ashe3 of a flower. 
That a shadow of the rose, 
By its own meek beauty bowed, 
Might slowly, leaf by leaf, unclose, 
Like pictures in a cloud. 
Or the hyacinth to grace, 
As a second rainbow, spring; 
Of summer’s path a dreary trace, 
A fair, yet mournful thing! 
For the glory of the bloom 
That a flush around it shed, 
And the soul within, the rich perfume, 
Where were they ? — fled, all fled! 
Nought but the dim faint line 
To speak of vanished hours 
Memory 1 what are joys of thine ? 
Shadows of buried flowers 1 
