














FLOWERS. 
When joy from out the daisies grew, 
| In woodland pastures green, 
\ And summer skies were far more blue 
| Than since they e’er hath been. 
Now Autumn’s pensive voice is heard 
Amid the yellow bowers, | 
The robin is the regal bird, 
And thou the Queen of flowers ! 
He sings on the Laburnum trees, 
Amid the twilight dim, 
And Araby ne’er gave the breeze 
Such scents as thou to him. 
Rich is the Pink, the Lily gay, 
The Rose is summer’s guest : 
Bland are the charms when these decay, 
Of flowers first, last, and best! 
These may be gaudier on the bower, | 
And statelier on the tree; | 
¢ But Wall flower, loved Wall flower, | 
Thou art the flower for me. | 
DELTA. 
