






POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Heart ! that to Earth doth cling, 
While boughs are blossoming, 
Why wake not too? 
Playing, thou sluggard heart, 
In life no manly part, 
Though youth be gone. 
Wake! ’tis Sprine’s quickening breath 
Now o’er thee blown ; 
Wake thee! and ere in death 
Pulses thou slumbereth, 
Pluck but from Glory’s wreath 
One leaf alone! 
MILNER AND SOWERBY, PRINTERS, HALIFAX. 

Bi 
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