
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 






















One sod now wraps the dust of three 
Of that gay and joyous company ; 
The long grass sadly waves above, 
But their ransomed spirits the lesson prove, 
That the God of Heaven is a God of love! 
TO THE WOOD SORREL. 
Hart to thee ! exquisitely pencill’d flower, 
That tremblest on thy solitary stem, 
And shrinkest even from tie passing shower 
That would thy fairy cup with crystals gem. | 

Faint heart hast thou that canst not brook a frown, : 
But waitest weeping for a sunny smile, 
With petals closed and calyx hanging down, 
And leaves enfolden in despair the while. 

The stream runs sparkling by—the wildbeehums, 
And thoughtful seeks his mossy hermit cell— 
And see, to kiss thy cheek, the sunbeam comes ; 
Now, pensive Sorrel, raise thy drooping bell. 
Whence hast thou won thy names, thou simple 
flower ? 
A nameless wanderer seeks the reason why— 
Here will he sit and muse away the hours ; 
For he, like thee, is lowly, sad, and shy. 


