POETRY OF FLOWERS. vi) 
’ Tis a quaint thought, and yet, perchance, 
Sweet blossoms ye are sprung 
From flowers that over Eden once 
Their pristine fragrance flung ;— 
They drank the dews of Paradise, 
Beneath the starlight clear ; 
Or caught from Eve’s dejected eyes 
Her first repentant tear. 
LINES SENT WITH A “ FORGET-ME- 
NOT.” 
Ems eM of my Fanny’s eye, 
Dyed with empyrean hue, 
Bright as heaven’s sunshine sky, 
Divinely, beautifully blue. 
Emblem of my Fanny’s mind, 
Resplendent, modest, rich and pure, 
Like that brilliant gem we find 
All radiant, though at first obscure. 
Emblem of my Fanny’s heart, 
But what to that can I compare? 
All that heaven could impart 
Of woman’s worth, is perfect there, 


