POETRY OF FLOWERS. 135 
This was the conscious flower that threw 
Its lovely fragrance on the night ; 
Thou only oped thy pallid hue 
Beneath the silent flood of light. 
Thy sisters veil their foreheads fair, 
And fold their bells on heath and dale 3 
Nor on the misty evening air 
Their breath of sweetness dare exhale. 
But thou dost long for holy eve, 
To shroud thee from day’s piercing eye: 
Night’s chilly hours alone receive 
Thy secret tear and perfumed sigh. 
SPRING FLOWERS. 
Tue flowers! the lovely flowers ! 
They are springing forth again $ 
Are opening their gentle eyes 
In forest and in plain ! 
They cluster round the ancient stems, 
And ivied roots of trees, 
Like children playing gracefully 
About a father’s knees. 
The flowers ! the lovely flowers } 
Their pure and radiant eyes 


