42 
The Poetry of Flowers. 
Whatsoe’er of beauty 
Yearns and yet reposes, 
Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath, 
Took a shape in Roses. 
Hold one of us lightly— 
See from what a slender 
Stalk we bower in heavy blooms, 
And roundness rich and tender. 
Know you not our only 
Rival flower—the human ? 
Loveliest weight on lightest foot, 
Joy-abundant woman? 
LILIES. 
We are Lilies fair, 
The flower of virgin light ; 
Nature held us forth, and said, 
“ Lo ! my thoughts of white." 
Ever since then, angels 
Hold us in their hands ; 
You may see them where they take 
In pictures their sweet stands. 
Like the garden’s angels 
Also do we seem ; 
And not the less for being crowned 
With a golden dream. 
Could you see around us 
The enamoured air, 
You would see it pale with bliss 
To hold a thing so fair. 
