






























POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Tis no light grief oppresses me ; 
For, in the days my steps were free, 
T had it always near. 
Far round the tower I send my eye, 
The tower so steep and tall 
But no where can the flower descry 
From this high castle wall ; 
And him who’ll bring me my desire, 
Or be he knight or be he squire, 
My dearest friend Pll call. 
ROSE. 
My blossoms near thee I disclose, 
And hear thy wretched plight ; \ 
Thou meanest me, no doubt, the rose, | 
Thou noble; hapless knight. 
A lofty mind in thee is seen, 
And in thy bosom reigns the queen 
Of flowers, as is her right. 
CAPTIVE. 
Thy crimson bud I duly prize, 
In outer robe of green ; 1 
For this thou’rt dear in maiden’s eyes, 
As gold and jewels sheen. 
Thy wreath adorns the fairest brow 5 
And yet the flower—it is not thou, 
Whom wy still wishes mean. 
