72 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
CUPID AND THE DIAL. 
One day, young frolic Cupid tried 
To scatter roses o’er the hours, 
And on the dial’s face to hide 
The course of time with many flowers. 
By chance, his rosy wreaths had wound 
Upon the. hands, and forced them on; 
And when he look’d again, he found 
The hours had pass’d, the time was done. 
“Alas !” said love, and dropp’d his flowers, 
“I’ve lost my time in idle play ; 
The sweeter I would make the hours, 
The quicker they are pass’d away.’ 
THE CLOSED CONVOLVULIS. 
An hour ago, and sunny beams 
Were glancing o’er each airy bell; 
And thou wert drinking in those gleams, 
Like beauty listening love’s farewell. 
And now with folded drooping leaves, 
Thou seemest for that light to mourn, 
Like unto one who fondly grieves 
rhe* hours that stay some friend’s return. 
