xe 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 171 
For the heart that trusteth purely 
Never long can pine alone.” 
in his tower sits the poet, 
Blisses new and strange to him 
Fill his heart and overflow it 
With a wonder sweet and dim, 
Up the beach the ocean slideth 
With a whisper of delight, 
And the moon in silence glideth 
Through the peaceful blue of night. 
Rippling o’er the poet’s shoulder 
Flows a maiden’s golden hair, 
Maiden lips, with love grown bolder, 
Kiss his moon-lit forehead bare. 
‘‘ Life is joy, and love is power, 
Death all fetters doth unbind, 
Strength and wisdom only flower 
When we toil for all our kind. 
Hope is truth,—the future giveth 
More than present takes away, 
And the soul for ever liveth 
Nearer God from day to day.” 
Not a word the maiden uttered, 
Fullest hearts are slow to speak, 
But a withered rose-leaf fluttered 
Down upon the poet’s cheek. 


