d, 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. ~ 23 
So in those isles of delight, that rest 
Far off on a breezeless main, 
Which many a bark, with a weary guest, 
Has sought, but still in vain. 
Yet is not life, in its real flight, 
Marked thus—even thus—on earth 
By the closing of one hope’s delight, 
And another’s gentle birth ? 
Oh! let us live so that flower by flower, 
Shutting in turn, may leave 
A lingering still for the sunset hour, 
A. charm for the shaded eve. 
SYMPATHY OF CHILDHOOD WITH 
FLOWERS. 
Nor one, mamma ! not only ones 
I could not bear to sever 
That bond of gentle union 
So rudely thus for ever. 
The primrose could not live alone 
Its graceful head would pine, 
Its starry blossoms, one by one, 
Forsake their dewy shrine. 

