THE FLORAL OFFERING. 
But Love his arrow sent, love, 
And broke the buoyant wing, 
And changed to wild lament, love, 
The song I used to sing. 
And now with mocking laughter, 
I wile away the hours, 
And weep in anguish after, 
O’er memory’s buried flowers! 
F. S. 0 
HELIOTROPE. Soul of my Soul ! 
THE SUNBEAM’S LOVE. 
A little wild flower, lone and sad, 
Was shaded so by leaves above, 
The light that made her sisters glad, 
Denied to her its smile of love. 
But once the warmest, sunniest ray 
That ever thrilled a blossom’s heart, 
Through the dark foliage found its way, 
With Love’s own soft, beguiling art. 
The wild flower blushed and smiled and wept, 
But trembling, let the rover in; 
Till on her breast it softly slept, 
Too pure, too blest for shame or sin. 
Bloom, beauty, balm undreamed of yore 
Enrich the blossom’s beating heart; 
And leaves, it had not known before, 
Thrill to that warm, sweet smile—and part. 
In soft surprise, it murmured low, 
“The rose is far more fair than I— 
Why do you, darling, love me so?” 
And the ray said, “I know not why! 
14 
