FLOWERS BY THE POETS. 
In vain : for soon the crumbling rock gave way 
Beneath his weight, leaving small mark to trace 
The tragic spot; 
But, ere the waters closed above his head, 
His loved one heard him murmur low the words, 
“ Forget me not,” 
And saw, through tears, a tiny shower of blue 
Thrown by the hand she never more might clasp. 
Then with sad moan, 
She treasured his last keepsake, which since then, 
Has by the words his dying lips pronounced, 
Been ever known. 
Mrs. George R. Lee. 
