
64. POETRY OF 
But yet, not lost, 
Not lost, my beautiful; thou wilt but hide 
Thy quiet loveliness while Summer’s Sun 
Calls forth the courtiers of his glittering train 
To revel in their gay and festal ’tire: 
When Autumn dims them, and when winter 
chills, 
Thou wilt lay by thy cloak or russet brown, 
And spring up bright and beautiful once more. 
So when thy fragrance breathes its faint per- 
fume 
And pallid droop thy petals round the stem, 
I will but think thy life one day has spent, 
And bid thee sweet sleep till me meet again. 
THE WALL FLOWER. 
The Wall flower—the Wall flower, 
How beautiful it blooms ! 
It gleams above the ruined tower, 
Like sunlight over tombs ; 
