
THE BOUQUET. 

CHRYSANTHEMUM — RED, 
CHRYSANTHEMUM INDICUM. 
I clove: 
My heart is full 
Of that immortal passion, which alone 
Holds through the wide world its eternal rule 
Supreme; and with its deep, seducing tone 
Winneth the wise, the young, the beautiful, 
The brave, and all, to bow before its throne ; 
The sun and soul of life, the end, the gain, 
The rich requital of an age of pain. 
B. CORNWALL. 
I nove thee; yes, I feel 
That on the fountain of my heart a seal 
Is.set, to keep its waters pure and bright 
For thee. SHELLEY. 
Tis Is love, 
Which chooseth from a thousand only one 
To be the object of that tenderness 
Natural to every heart; which can resign 
Its own best happiness for one dear sake ; 
Can bear with absence; hath no part in hope, 
For hope is somewhat selfish ;—love is not, 
And doth prefer another to itself. 
L. E. Lanpon, 







