ZU THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Yoa, honours of the flowry meads, I rray, 
You I ? retty dau " h,ers of the earth and sun, 
With mild and seemly breathing straight display 
My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone 
HEART’S-EASE, 
BY SHAKSPEARE. 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,’ 
Cupid all arm’d ; a certain aim he took ’ 
At a fair vestal throned in the west. 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.’ 
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
Quench’d in the chaste beams of the wat’ry mooa 
And the imperial vot’ress passed on, 
in maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell • 
it fell upon a little western flower, 
Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wotna, 
And maidens call it Love in Idleness. 
The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid, 
Will make a man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
