POETRY OF FLOWERS. iii 
She seem’d designed for Flora’s hand, 
The sceptre of her power. 
This civil bickering and debate 
The goddess chanced to hear, 
And flew to save, ere yet too late, 
The pride of the parterre. 

Yours is, she said, the nobler hue, 
And yours the statelier mien, 
And, till a third surpasses you, 
Let each be deemed a queen. 




Thus sooth’d and reconcil’d, each seeks 
The fairest British fair : 
The seat of empire is her cheeks— 
They reign united there. 




STREW ODOROUS FLOWERS. 
STREW odorous flowers upon the bed of death, 
Cull ye the fairest from the greenest fields ; 
The primrose, with its perfume-yielding breath. 
The loveliest fragrancies that Nature yields ; 
‘‘ Sweet to the sweets” be given, nor forget— 
For such was shey—the shrinking violet. 







