POETRY OF FLOWERS. 173 
She is leaving the home of her childhood’s mirth, 
She hath bid farewell to her father’s hearth ; 
Her place is now by another’s side— 
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride! 
Bring flowers, pale flowers, on the bier to shed, 
A crown for the brow of the early dead ; 
For this, through its leaves, hath the white rose 
burst ; 
For this, in the woods, was the violet nursed : 
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, 
They are love’s last gift—bring ye flowers, pale 
flowers | 
Bring fiowers to the shrine where we kneel in 
prayer, 
They are nature’s offering, their place is there! 
They speak of hope to the fainting heart, 
With a voice of promise they come and part, 
-They sleep in dust through the winter hours, 
They break forth in glory—bring flowers, bright 
flowers ! 
TO A MOSS ROSE. 
Wuix st across thy dewy bed 
The playful graces lightly tread :— 


