POETRY OF FLOWERS. 15 
’Twas an autumn morn, and beside my way 
A sweet flower bloomed on that autumn day. 
I watched as it oped to the breath of morn, 
A blossom alone on the plain ; 
For a few fleet hours in beauty it bloomed, 
But the sharp frost came again. 
It withered and dried, and shrunk away, 
That flower that bloomed on an autumn day. 
Thus on each tender thing of life, 
Will Death’s cold hand be laid ; 
And what now blooms in rosy health, 
Like the lark in the breezy glade, 
Must sink to the earth and pass away, 
Likethe flower that bloomed onan autumn day. 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH. 
WEE modest crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou’st met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stour 
Thy slender stem ; 
To spare thee now is past my power, 
Thou bonnie gem. 

