FLOWERS BY THE POETS. 
Lastly by Lethe’s stream her footsteps strayed ; 
And “ Oh !” she said in sighing, 
“ That I might dip, and my past life be made 
Like dreams with daylight dying l” 
The big tears, from her blue eyes raining down. 
Fell on earth’s pitying bosom ; 
Sudden there sprang, amid the sedges brown, 
Blue as her eyes a blossom. 
And o’er her head, soft rustling, sweet and low. 
As though some bird’s wing fluttered, 
In those loved tones whose loss was all her woe, 
“ Forget me not ” was uttered. 
No more ; no sight, no touch: these words alone : 
And “ Ah !” she cried, “ forget thee ? 
Nay, hut half love in our glad life was known— 
Half love to regret thee.” 
“ Forget thee ? Nay, these flowers my tears begot 
Shall be to me a token 
Of love ; they shall be called Forget-me-not, 
The name to cheer me spoken.” 
So well, sweet river-flowers, we welcome you, 
Earth with faint sadness scenting— 
Born of the tears from Psyche’s eyes of blue, 
For her lost love lamenting. 
F. W. B., London Spectator. 
