TIME, LOVE, AND THE FLOWEBS. 
XV 
“ Old man,” said Love, “ the flowers are mine ; 
Leave them alone, and go thy way— 
Destruction is the work of thine, 
’Tis mine to beautify decay. 
Is’t not enough that thou hast power 
To lay both youth and beauty low, 
But thou must envy the poor flower 
Which scarce a day sees in full blow ? 
I’ve seen thee smile on them for hours ! ”— 
“ ’T is true,” said Time, and spared the flowers. 
