106 
ON A FRIEND’S BIRTHDAY. 
“ Bring Flowers, young Flowers,” a wreath I’ll twine, 
A crown for that niind-wi’itten brow of thine — 
A radiant wreath—not one drooping spray 
Shall dim, with ill omen, thy natal day; 
Not a lurking dew-drop shall dare appear. 
For though bright and lustrous, ’tis like a tear: 
And smiles must dimple each cheek to-day. 
Tears, soitow, and care shall flee far away! 
But, alas, for my wreath ! The transient Flowers 
Have passed away with the Summer hours; 
They are all, all flown, the wild and the sweet. 
Their slight forms may never the cold winds meet: 
All flown and faded—or one loved gem 
I had sought and wreathed for thy diadem. 
Not the rose—that has thorns—and I would not bring 
In my simple garland so false a thing; 
Did I the leaves of thy destiny twine. 
No thorn should approach e’en a thought of thine. 
Of the Flower I’d bring, I have often told 
How brightly its petals of blue imfold. 
And oft I’ve repeated its name, to tell 
What no other words breathe half so well. 
