POETRY OF FLOWERS. 65 
THE YOUNG MAID AND THE 
FLOWER. 
THE coffin descends! and the garland of roses, 
By a father’s hand dropped, on its lid reposes, 
To the bridegroom death a dower ! 
Barth ! open thy arms, and take to thy bosom 
These twinlings of beauty, cut offin their blossom, 
The fair young maid, and the flower ! 
Ah ! give them not back to this impure dwelling, 
Where sorrow and pain have power of quelling 
The bliss of man in an hour ! 
No storm shall blast them, when laid in thy keep. 
ing, 
Heat shall not scorch them, noise break not their 
sleeping — 
The fair young maid and the flower! 
How brief was thy span of enjoyment, poor 
maiden ! 
But yet the dark future, with care and grief 
laden 
For others, thy peace cannot sour! 
Oh, night ! shed thy dews for their grave-turf’s 
adorning, 
Their life was a short and a sweetsummer’s morn. 
ing— 
The fair young maid and the flower ! 
121 I 






