
ih 

— 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 238 
Yes, and the neart doth owe thee 
_ More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold 
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold !— 
Lie still upon this heart—which breaks below 
thee ! 
LINES 
SUGGESTED BY THE SIGHT OF SOME LATE AUTUMN 
FLOWERS. 
TresE few pale, Autumn flowers, 
How beautiful they are! 
Than all that went before, 
Than all the summer store, 
How lovelier far! 
And why ? they are the last! 
The last! the last ! the last! 
Oh! by that little word 
How many thoughts are stirred, 
That whisper of the past! 
Pale flowers! pale perishing flowers, 
Ye’re types of precious things ; 
Types of those better moments 
That flit, like life’s enjoyments, 
On rapid, rapid wings ; 



