

32 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Bring me their buds, to shed 
Around my dying bed 
A breath of May, and of the wood’s repose; 
For I in sooth depart 
With a reluctant heart, 
Thatfain would linger where the bright sun glows, 
Fain would I stay with thee— 
Alas ! this ray not be; 
Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours; 
Go where the fountain’s breast 
Catches, in glassy rest, } 
The dim green light that pours through laurel 
bowers. 
I know how softly bright, 
Steeped in that tender light, 
The water-lilies tremble there, e’en now ; 
Go to the pure stream’s edge, 
And from its whispering sedge 
Bring me those flowers to cool my fevered brow | 
Then, as in hope’s young days, 
Track you the antique maze 
Of the rich garden, to its grassy mound; 
There is a lone white rose, 
Shedding, in sudden snows, 
Its faint leaves o’er the emerald turf around: 
Well know’st thou that fair tree— 
A murmur of the bee 
