226 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Dissembling what I knew too well, 
My love, my life, said I, explain 
This change of humour: pr’ythee tell: 
That falling tear—what does it mean ? 
She sigh’d: she smiled: and to the flower* 
Pointing, the lovely moralist said— 
;See, friend, in some few fleeting hours, 
See yonder, what a change is made. 
Ah me ! the blooming pride of May, 
And that of beauty, are but one: 
At morn both flourish bright and gay; 
Both fade at evening, pale, and gone. 
At dawn poor Stella danced and sung, 
The amorous youth around her bow’d: 
At night her fatal knell was rung; 
I saw, and kiss’d her in her shroud. 
: Such as she is, who died to-day, 
Such T, alas! may be to-morrow; 
Go, Damon, bid the Muse display 
The justice of thy Chloe’s sorrow. 
