POETRY OF FLOWERS. 138 
And though thy wintery doom may seem severe, 
Uncheered by song of birds, or kindred flower, 
I do believe thou dost not blossom here 
But by the will of that Almighty Power, 
Who makes thy fragile bloom an instrument 
To teach a proud and murmuring heart content. 
THE GOLDEN ROSE.* 
‘Sister, wake ! ’tis surely morning; listen, I can 
hear the bees 
Humming underneath the window, in the fragrant 
lilac-trees. 
There it comes ! that wandering sunbeam I have 
watched so many a time, 
Creeping in the same dark corner atthe early morn- 
ing chime. 
‘Oh the night is very weary unto those who Ee ~ 
and moan, 
And who only know the day-time by theslow hours 
stealing on— 
By the small blue rift of heaven gleaming through 
the curtained pane, 
By the warbling birds that waken to their daily life 
again. 
* In ancient Germany it was the custom for a bridc- 
groom to send or bring to his betrothed a golden TO3¢, 
as a token that he was about to claim her, 

