292 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Till, planted in the realm of rest, 
Where Roses never die, 
Amidst the garden of the blest, 
Beneath a stormless sky, 
You flower afresh, like Aaron’s rod, 
That blossomed at the sight of God, ; 
THE VIOLET. 
THE Violet, in her greenwood bower, 
Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, 
May boast herself the fairest flower, 
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. | 
Though fair her gems of azure hue, 
Beneath the dew-drop’s weight reclining, 
I’ve seen an eye of lovelier blue, 
More sweet, through watery lustre shining. 


The summer sun thaw dew shall dry, 
Hre yet the day be past its morrow; 
Nor longer in my false love’s eye 
Remained the tear of parting sorrow. 




