rig 
es 
th’s 
POETRY OF WLOWERS. at 
Or close in loveliness at Twilight’s feet 
They gave their thoughts and dreams; and 
thou dost quell 
A gentle spirit in each blossom sweet 
(Which its love-conscious mates for ever pine to 
greet— 
And pine in vain !) which thy small hand doth 
sunder 
From its green birth-place !—Art thou of those 
that sleep 
Jn common thought, to whom there is no won- 
der 
' In all the universe sublime and deep— 
Invisible and visible ! There weep 
Dews of a Morning round us, which must break— 
And unveil all things o’er which darkly sweep 
The night-shades of our ignorance. Awake! 
And in this creed believe—for love’s, if not truth’g 
sale. 
THE LAST WISH. 
Go to the forest shade— 
Seek thou the well-known glade, 
Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie, 
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, 
Like dark eyes filled with sleep, 
Anda bathed in hues of summer’s midnight sky. 


