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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Like emblems of forlorn decay, 
We linger to the last ; 
But Death’s long night shall turn to day, 
When Time itself is past !” 
A DREAM OF THE COUNTRY. 
Ler’s go to the lonely plain— 
Scene of Nature’s peaceful reign, 
Where the flowerets’ bloom, 
And their sweet perfume, 
Bring peace to the troubled brain. 
There the free birds’ merry song 
Drowns thoughts of many a wrong 
Encounter’d in life, 
In the jarring strife 
Of a selfish worldly throng. 
Hear the murmur of the stream 3 
See its tiny billows gleam, 
When the fairy rays 
Of the sun’s bright gaze 
On its restless bosom beam ! 
The bee’s continual hum, 
And the wood’s light rustling, come 
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