




POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
No, no, this anguish cannot lasts 
Beloved friends, adieu ; 
The bitterness of death were past, 
Could I resign but you. 
Oh’! ye who soothe the pangs of death, 
With love’s own patient care, 
Stall, still retain this fleeting breath ; 
Still pour the fervent prayer. 
And ye, whose smiles must greet my eye 
No more, nor voice my ear, 
Who breathe for me the tender sigh, 
And shed the pitying tear ; 
Whose kindness, though far, far removed, 
Thy grateful thoughts perceive ; 
Pride of my life—esteemed, beloved, 
My last sad claim receive! 
Oh, do not quite your friend forget— 
Forget alone her faults ; 
And speak of her with fond regret, 
Who asks your lingering thoughts, 
