lHE FOETH ¥ OF FLOWERS. 
All who see us love us,— 
We hefit all places : 
Unto sorrow we give smiles,-and unto graces 
races 
Mark our ways, how noiseless 
All, and sweetly voiceless, 
I hough the March-winds pipe, to make our 
passage clear; 
Not a whisper tells 
Where our small seed dwells 
or is known the moment green, 4hen our tips 
appear. * 
We thread the earth in silence, 
In silence build our bowers,— 
And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh 
a-top, sweet flowers. 
The dear lumpish baby, 
_ Humming with the May-bee, 
Hans us with his bright star, stumbling through 
the grass; 
The honey-dropping moon, 
On a night in June, 
Ivisses our pale pathway leaves, that felt the 
bridegroom pass. 
Age, the wither’d clinger, 
On us mutely gazes, 
And wrap* the thought of his last bed in his 
childhood’s daisies. 
