8 o 
The Poetry of Flowers. 
Yes ! my fancy sees thee 
In that light disclose, 
And its dream thus frees thee 
From the mist of woes, 
Darkening thine earthly bowers, O bridal, royal 
Rose! 
THE ROSE. 
FROM BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
Of all flowers, 
Methinks a Rose is best . . . 
It is the very emblem of a maid ; 
For when the west winds court her gently, 
How modestly she blows, and paints the sun 
With her chaste blushes ! When the north comes 
near her, 
Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, 
She locks her beauties in her bud again, 
And leaves him to base briers. 
THE CAPTIVE AND THE FLOWERS. 
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
CAPTIVE. 
A flower that’s wondrous fair, I know, 
My bosom holds it dear; 
To seek that flower I long to go, 
But am imprisoned here. 
’Tis no light grief oppresses me ; 
For in the days my steps were free, 
I had it always near. 
