






242 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Where the sound of dropping nuts is heard, 
though all the leaves are still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the 
rill, 
The south wind searches for the flowers whose 
fragrance late he bore, 
And siglis to find them in the wood, and by the 
stream, no more, 
And then I think of one who in her youthful 
beauty died, 
he fair meek blossom that grew up and faded 
by my side; 
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the 
forest cast the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a 
life so brief: 
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young 
friend of ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with 
the flowers. 
THE ROSE AND THE DEW-DROP. 
A DEW-DROP came from the realms of light, 
Borne on the shaft of a sun-beam bright, 
