




214, POETRY OF FLOWRRS. 
Then meet me again in this casement niche, 
On the spot where we’re standing now,— 
Nay! question not wherefore,—perchance with 
me, 
To look on the night and the bright broad sea, 
And to hear its majestic flow. 
Well, we're met here again, and the moonlight 
sleeps 
On the sea and the bastion wall. 
And the flowers below—how the night-wind 
brings 
Their delicious breath on its dewy wings, 
But there’s one, say you, sweeter than all! 
Which is it ? the lily, or jessamine, or their sove- 
reign lady, the rose, 
Or the heliotrope, or the virgin’s-bower ? 
What, neither? Ah no, ’tis some other flower 
Far sweeter than any of those! 
Far sweeter ! and where, think you, dwelleth the 
plant 
That exhaleth such perfume rare ? 
Look about up and down, but take care, or you'll 
break, 
With your elbow, that poor little thing that’s so 
weak ;— 
Why, ’tis that smells so sweet, I declare! 
Ah, ha! have you found out now 
Why I cherish the odd little fright ? 
