






206 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
‘Twas my father’s pet plant, and he gave it to 
me, 
When my poor mother died, and he almost 
grew crazy ; 
And now he has gone all acro ss the salt sea, 
And has left me to guard his sweet Michael- 
mas Daisy. 
There’s a lad that I love, and he lives in the glen, 
In his nate little cottage he waits for my com- 
ing ; 
He says I must wed to be happy again, 
For my mother is dead, and my father is 
roaming. 
But I tell him I'll wait till the winter comes on, 
And the long dark November days dreary and 
hazy ; 
And then, if my poor father does not return, 
I will go, and will carry my Michaelmas Daisy. 
TO A FADED FLOWER. 
I rove, I love to gaze on thee, 
Thou faded little flower ; 
A relic of the past art thou, 
Child of the summer bower : 
