
FLOWERS. 63 
Before thy beauty’s shrine by some fair sprite 
Enamored of thy maiden loveliness. 
The hyacinth and violet entwined 
Have scarce so sweet an odor. 
Thanks, my Flower, 
My gentle, kind companion—for to me 
Thy silence is most eloquent :—I love 
Thy quiet steadfast gaze, as, o’er my desk, 
The long day through thou hast seemed watch- 
ing me; 
And ever and anon, in glancing up, 
I still have met thy calm unchanging look, 
Reminding me, in silence, of a friend 
Whose gift thou wert to me. Yet thou wert 
then 
A mere unsightly root. O! howI watched 
With almost childish eagerness, thy growth, 
‘And tended thee with more than common care. 
How rich is my reward! My gentle flower, 
I fain would never lose thee; but thou’lt die— 
Droop—wither—pass away like all fair things ; 
Like all I ever loved. 

