

The Poetry of Flowers. 




























But ye are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne’er so brave ; 
And after they have shown their pride, 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 

THE EARLY PRIMROSE. 
ASKE me why I send you here 
This firstling of the infant year ; 
Aske me why I send to you 
This Primrose all bepearled with dew ; 
I straight will whisper in your ears, 
The sweets of love are washt with teares. 
Aske me why this flower doth show 
So yellow, green, and sickly too ; 
Aske me why the stalk is weak 
And bending, yet it doth not break ; 
I must tell you, these discover 
What doubts and fears are in a lover. 

Sitio Sige eis © la alae. 
BY SOUTHEY. 
O READER! hast thou ever stood to see 
The holly tree? 
The eye that contemplates it well perceives 
Its glossy leaves, 
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise, 
As might confound the Atheist’s sophistries. 
