By this the boy that by her side lay killed. 
Was melted like a vapour from her sight, 
And in his blood that on the ground lay spdled, 
A purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white : 
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 
She bows her head, the new sprung flower to smell. 
Comparing it to her Adonis’ breath ; 
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell. 
Since he himself is reft from her by death : 
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears 
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. 
Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father’s guise, 
(Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) 
For every little grief to wet his eyes: 
To grow unto himself was his desire. 
And so ’tis thine ; but know, it is as good 
To wither in my breast, as in his blood. 
Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast; 
Thou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: 
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night : 
There shall not be one minute of an hour 
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet Love’s flower. 
The Anemone is also called Pasqne-Jlower, from its blossom¬ 
ing about Easter; and Wind-flower, from being formerly 
supposed to open only when the wind blew. Hence its name 
Anemone, from the Greek word dvsf^os, anemos, wind. The 
wild wood Anemone, being a well-known and indigenous plant, 
and most delicately beautiful too, would seem preferable, as 
an illustration of the Flower; but the deeper colours of the 
