Shing 
odbing 
Lowers, 
3, 
es! 
POETRY OF FLOWERg. Lid 
Lhey flourish freshly, though beneath 
Lie the dark dust and creeping worm, 
They speak of Hope, they speak of Faith ; 
They smile, like rainbows thro’ the storm, 
Pluck not the flowers—the sacred flowers ! 
Go where the garden’s treasures spread, 
Where strange bright blossoms deck the bowers, 
And spicy trees their odours shed. 
There pluck, if thou delightest, indeed, 
To shorten life so brief as theirs, 
But here the admonition heed— 
A blessing on the hand that spares ! 
Pluck not the flowers! in days gone by 
A beautiful belief was felt, 
That fairy spirits of the sky 
Amidst the trembling blossoms dwelt, 
Perhaps the dead have many a guest 
Holier than any that are ours, 
Perhaps their guardian angels rest 
Enshrined amidst the flowers. 
Hast thou no loved one lying low, 
No broken reed of earthly trust ? 
Hast thou not felt the bitter wo 
With which we render dust to dust ? 
Thou hast ! and in one cherished spot, 
Unseen, unknown to earthly eyes, 
Within their heart, the unforgot 
Entombed in silent beauty lies, 





