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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 289 
And thus, often a friend, 
Spring and summer have known, 
Will live through one autumn, 
When many have flown; 
Bunt when hope has departed, 
And sorrow’s clouds lour, 
Fades away from our sides, 
Like the last Autumn Flower. 
LOVE’S WREATH. 
Wuewn Love wasa child, and went idling round 
Among flowers, the whole summer’s day, 
One morn in the valley a bower he found, 
So sweet, it allured him to stay. 
O’erhead in the trees hung a garland fair ; 
A fountain ran darkly beneath ; 
Twas Pleasure that hung the bright flowers up 
there ; 
Love knew it, and jumped at the wr cath. 
But Love did not know—and, at his weak years, 
What urchin was likely to know P— 
That Sorrow had made, of her own salt tears, 
That fountain which murmured below. 
121 Z 



