
















THE BOUQUET. 

} PHLOX, 
PHLOX MACULATA. 
Our souls are united. 




My soul, gone forth from this lone breast, 
Lives only, love, in thine ; 
There is its holy home of rest, 
id) | Its dear, its chosen shrine. TERRY. 
THERE are two hearts, whose movements thrill 
' In unison so closely sweet, 
. That pulse to pulse, responsive still, 
They both must heave — or cease to beat. 
Pit | There are two souls, whose equal flow 
In gentle streams so calmly run, 
That when they part— they part? —ah, no! 
They cannot part — those souls are one. 
BARTON. 
THERE is a mystic thread of life, 
So dearly wreathed with mine alone, 
That Destiny’s relentless knife 
At once must sever both or none! 

BYRON. 

