DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
145 
They were gathered for a bridal! 
And now, now they are dying; 
And young Love at the altar 
Of broken faith is sighing. 
Their summer life was stainless, 
And not like her's who wore them; 
They are faded, and the farewell 
Of beauty lingers o’er them I 
THE ROSE 
SPENSER. 
Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly she 
Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty, 
That fairer seems the less ye see her way! 
Lo ! see soon after, how more bold and free 
Her bared bosom she doth broad display; 
Lo ! see soon after, how she fades and falls away. 
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