AND FLOWERS OF POETRY. 141 
For me — I must confess, love, 
I’m growing rather bored — and so 
Take back this golden tress, love, 
And let me — let me — go! 
f. s. o. 
LIFE. 
LUCE RN. 
Lxjcern occupies the same ground for a long period, but 
when it forsakes it, it is for ever. On this account it has been 
made the emblem of life. 
Life is a fair, nay charming form, 
Of nameless grace and tempting sweets; 
But disappointment is the worm, 
That cankers every bud she meets. 
Neele. 
A blossom full of promise is life’s joy, 
That never comes to fruit; Hope, for a time, 
Suns the young floweret in its gladsome light, 
An ri it looks flourishing; --a little while — 
’Tis past, we know not whither, but ’tis gone! 
Miss Landon. 
Life is a waste of wearisome hours, 
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 
Is always the first - to be touched by the thorns. 
Moore. 
