






k66 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE MOSS ROSE. 
Tux Angel of the flowers one day, 
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay ; 
That spirit to whom charge is given 
To bathe young buds in dews of Eleaven ; 
Awaking from his light repose, 
The angel whispered to the rose :-— 
‘6 Oh, fondest object of my care, 
Still fairest found where all is fair ; 
For the sweet shade thou giv’st to me, 
Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee !’’ 
‘Then,’’ said the rose, with deepen’d glow, 
‘‘ On me another grace bestow.” 
The spirit paused in silent thought :— 
What grace was there the flower had not ?— 
*Twas but a moment—o’er the rose 
A veil of moss the angel throws ; 
And robed in Nature’s simplest weed, 
Could there a flower that rose exceed ? 
TO THE DAISY. 
Sweet simple flower, though lost to fame, 
And scorn’d by every thoughtless wight ; 
How proud the orb which gave thy name— 
That splendid orb which yields us light ! 
—— 
