74 T, OVE’S T O K E N - F LO WE RS, 
MAKYGOLD. —Calendula Officinalis. 
Inquietude. 
Methought the icy hand of Time had chilled 
The gushing fount of passion in tny breast— 
Methought that Reason’s power, for aye, had 
stilled 
The bitter struggles of my heart’s unrest. 
Cold, calm, and self-possessing, I had deemed 
In quiet now to view life slip away— 
Forgetting much that once my soul had dreamed, 
And lengthening out in peace my little day. 
Safe in indifference, I had vainly hoped 
To scorn the sympathy I might not share, 
And little thought mine own hand would have 
ope’d 
My bosom’s portal to returning care. 
How burns the blush of shame upon my dheek— 
How bends to earth in grief my haughty brow, 
