100 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
But dearest to me is the pale lonely Kose, 
Whose blossoms in Winter’s dark season unclose 
Which smile in the rigour of Winter’s stern blast, 
And smooth the rough present by sigks of the 
past. 
And thus, when around us affliction’s dark power 
Eclipses the sunshine of life’s flowing hour, 
While drooping, deserted, in sorrow we bend, 
O! sweet is the presence of one faithful friend. 
The crowds that smiled on us when gladness was 
ours, 
Are Summer’s bright blossom which Autumn de- 
vours ; 
But the friend on whose breast we in sorrowrepose; 
That friend is the Winter’s lone, beautiful rose. 

THE VOICE OF THE FLOWERS. 
Buiossoms that lowly bend, 
Shutting your leaves from evening’s chilly dew, 
While your rich odours heavily ascend, 
The flitting winds to woo. 


I walk at silent eve, 
When scarce a breath is in the garden bowers, 
And many a vision and wild fancy weave, 
Midst you, ye lovely flowers ; 




