FLOWERS BY THE POETS. 
THE ENCHANTRESS’ SONG. 
23 
The Enchantress now begins her spell, 
Thus singing as she winds and weaves 
In mystic form the glittering leaves 
I know where the winged visions dwell 
That around the night bed play ; 
I know each herb and flow’ret’s bell 
Where they hide their wings by day. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 
The image of love, that nightly flies 
To visit the bashful maid, 
Steals from the Jasmine flower, that sighs 
Its soul, like her, in the shade. 
The dream of a future, happier hour, 
That alights on misery’s brow, 
Springs out of the silvery Almond flower, 
That blooms on a leafless bough. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 
Lalla Rookh. 
ROSEMARY. 
There’s Rosemary, that’s for remembrance 
Pray you, love, remember. Shakspeare. 
