
306 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
SONG. 
Tov art lovelier than the coming 
Of the fairest flowers of spring, 
When the wild bee wanders, humming, ‘ 
Like a blessed fairy thing: 
Thou art lovelier than the breaking I 
Of the orient crimson morn, 
When the gentlest winds are shaking 
The dew-drops from the thorn. 
T have seen the wild flowers springing A 
In wood, and field, and glen, 
Where a thousand birds were singing: 
And my thoughts were of thee then; 
For there’s nothing gladsome round me, 
Nothing beautiful to see, W 
Since thy beauty’s spell has bound me, 
But is eloquent of thee. 


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' VOICE OF THE LILY. An 
4 \ ComE away from the wide busy ocean of toil, . 
il O ye children of earth, come away, os 
. P To the vale of retirement, and linger awhile 
To hear what a lily would say ; Lo 
Se 
~ 
welre os ee 

