TO 

POLTRY OF FLOWERS. 














THE LOVE OF FLOWERS. 
FLowers! flowers! bright, merry-faced flowers! 
I bless ye in joyous or saddened hours! 
I love ye dearly, 
Ye look so cheerly, 
In Summer, Autumn, Winter, or Spring, 
A flower is to me the loveliest thing 
That hath its birth 
On this chequered earth :— 
Ob! who will not chorus the lay I sing ? 
Flowers ! flowers! who loveth them not? 
Who hath his childhood’s sports forgot ? 
When daisies white, 
And king-cups bright, 
And snow-drops, cowslips, and daffodils, 
Lured us to meadows, and woods, and rills ; 
And we wandered on, 
Till a wreath was won 
Of the heather-bells crowning the far-off hilis{ 





