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The Poetry of Flowers. 
HEART’S-EASE. 
BY SHAKESPEARE. 
T sAw, 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all armed ; a certain aim he took 
At a fair vessel thronéd in the west, 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. 
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon, 
And the imperial vot’ress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, 
Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, 
And_ maidens call it Love in Idleness. 
The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid, 
Will make a man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
THE SCARLET GERANIUM. 
I WILL not sing the mossy Rose, 
The Jasmine sweet, or Lily fair, 
The tints the rich Carnation shows, 
The Stock’s sweet scent that fills the air. 
Full many a bard has sung their praise 
In metres smooth, and polished line ; 
A simple flower and humbler lays 
May best befit a pen like mine. 
There is a small but lovely flower, 
With crimson star and calyx brown, 

