
14 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE BOUQUET. 
ONE summer’s morn, fair Flora’s shrine 
A beauteous maiden sought, 
A faultless bouquet to combine, 
Was what she would be taught. 
‘Choose, maiden, from the flowery race, 
Thy favourites with care,’ 
Said Flora, ‘and I’ll show the place 
Where each will seem most fair.’ 
A half blown rose, with sunny smile, 
Won first the fair maid’s heart ; 
She raised it to her lips the while, 
The twins were loth to part. 
‘The work is done,’ the goddess cries, 
‘The bouquet’s faultless now, 
The flower, the lip, the world defies, 
For sweetness I will trow.’ 
THE AUTUMN FLOWER. 
I wanpenrep forth at the blush of morn, 
While the dew on the leaves yet hung; 
And shadows deep of the giant oak 
Were far o’er the green sward flung. 
