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THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 
Dost thou not see in Fancy’s eye 
A bird with wings of emerald light, 
That soars, for ever, far on higt 
And, as it rises, beams more bright? 
What sings its plaintive voice to thee ? 
“Follow, follow, follow me!” 
The bird is Hope! ’twould lead the soul, 
With its sweet tones and seraph-bloom, 
From worldly woes—from earth’s control: 
’T will fold in heaven its shining plume! 
Up! up! thy spirit’s pinions try! 
Oh! keep that brilliant warbler nigh! 
Dost thou not see in Fancy’s eye 
A soft, a pure, undazzling star, 
That seems to melt in yonder sky, 
Yet still keeps smiling on afar? 
What speaks its eloquen smile to thee? 
“Follow, follow, follow me!” 
The star is Love—celestial Love! 
’T would woo from bowers of bliss below, 
To those where broods the deathless dove, 
With beaming wing and breast of snow! 
Oh! let thy soul’s affections twine, 
For ever, w' h that light divine! 
f. s. 
