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62 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 
First I would bid thee cherish Truth, 
As leading-star in virtue’s train; 
Folly may pass, nor tarnish youth, 
But Falsehood leaves a poison-stain. 
Eliza Cook. 
Ay! doomed, indeed!—to worse than death; 
To teach those sweet lips hourly guile; 
To breathe through life but Falsehood’s breath, 
And smile with Falsehood’s smile! 
f. s. o. 
Ah! gay to you my smile may seem: ’t is but the lightning 
brief 
That flashes from a darkened soul through gathering clouds 
of grief. 
f. s. o. 
Though dark the heart that throbs beneath 
The cestus in despair; — 
What matters it? — the jewel-wreath 
Can hide the ruin there! 
And oh! though still my diamonds blaze 
Above a spirit lonely, 
The world — the heartless world — will gaze, 
And see my jewels only! 
Yes! I would have them deem me blest; 
And wealth, at least, may be 
A glittering veil for broken rest 
And endless misery! 
f. s. o. 
I 
i— -—-__-— 
