
ny, 
row; 
low, 


POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
SPRING TIME. 
THov wak’st again, O Harth, 
From winter’s sleep !— 
Bursting, with voice of mirth, 
From icy keep; 
And, laughing at the sun, 
Who hath their freedom won, 
Thy waters leap! 
Thou wak’st again, O Harth, 
Freshly again ; 
And who by fireside hearth 
Now will remain ? 
Come, on thy rosy hours,— 
Come, on thy buds and flowers, 
As when, in Eden’s bowers, 
Spring first did reign. 
Birds on their breezes chime 
Blithe as in that matin-time, 
Their choiring begun : 
Earth, thou hast many a prime— 
Man hath but one. 
Thou wak’st again, O Harth! 
Freshly and new, 
As when, at Spring’s first birth, 
First floweret grew. 




