ee 218 POETRY GF FLOWERS. 
‘No. Be my wound thy lesson made ; 
We love your nobler race, 
Whose lot itis like ours to fade, 
Like ours, to see in darkness laid 
Your blossom’s wither’d grace. 
So, let the Will Supreme be blest g 
And still, with spirit meek, 
Shut rebel tear-drops in your breast, 
And wear, as badge of Heaven’s sweet rest 
Its smile upon your cheek.” 
THE MINISTRY OF FLOWERS. 
Frowers! Flowers! the poetry of earth, 
Pai | Impulsive, pure, and wild ; 
aM With what a strange delight they fill 
BH i) The wandering, mirthful child! 
It clasps their leaflets close a while, 
Then strews them wide around ; 
i For life hath many a joy to spare 
Along its opening bound. 



The maiden twines them in her hair, 
And, ’mid that shining braid, 
How fair the violet’s eye of blue, 
And the faint rose-bud’s shade! 






