i 
arg, 
ie 
= 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 237 
Sweetbriar and moss-rose her tresses enweave, 
When dressed for the sweet month of May ; 
So lovely she seems—Oh! it makes the heart 
grieve 
That beauty like hers must decay. 
For all her gay splendour, by winter’s stcrn 
pow’r, 
Ere long m the dust will be laid, 
To moulder and perish—Ah! beauty’s a flower 
That blooms but to wither and fade. 
THE DYING FLOWER. 
BEING A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PASSENGER 
AND A FADING VIOLET. 
Droop not, fair flower, there’s-hope in thee ; 
The spring again will bloom and burn, 
And glory robe the kingly tree, 
Whose life is in the sun’s return ; 
And once again its buds will chime 
Their peal of joy from viewless bells; 
hough, all the long dark winter-time, 
They mourned within their dreary cells, 





