
Le, 
mine, 

POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Passed carelessly by, nor turned again 
That scathed wreck to view : 
But now I can draw from that mouldering tree, 
Thoughts which are soothing and dear to me. 
O smile not ! nor think it a worthless thing, 
Tf it be with instruction fraught ; 
That which will closest and longest cling 
Is alone worth a serious thought ! 
Should aught be unlovely which thus can shed 
Grace on the dying, and leaves on the dead? 
Now, in thy youth, beseech of Him 
Who giveth, and upbraideth not, 
That his light in thy heart become not dim, 
And his love be unforgot ; 
And thy God, in the darkest of days, will be 
Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee! 
TO THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. 
Tuy fruit full well the school-boy knows, 
Wild bramble of the brake ! 
Go put thou forth thy small white rose: 
I love it for his sake. 
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow 
O’er all the fragrant bowers, 
