FLOWERS BY THE POETS. 
Passed many a flower-bed fitly set 
In trim and blooming order, 
And plucked at last some Mignonette 
That strayed along the border ; 
A simple thing that had no bloom, 
And but a faint and far perfume. 
She wondered why I would not choose 
That dreamy Amaryllis,— 
“ And could I really, then, refuse 
Those heavenly White Lilies 1 
And leave ungathered on the slope 
This passion-breathing Heliotrope ?” 
She did not know—what need to tell 
So ftiir and fine a creature ?— 
That there was one who loved me well 
Of widely different nature ; 
A little maid whose tender youth, 
And innocence, and simple truth, 
Had won my heart with qualities 
That far surpassed her beauty. 
And held me with unconscious ease 
Enthralled of love and duty ; 
Whose modest graces all were met 
And symboled in my Mignonette. 
