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The Poetry of Flowers. 

FLOWERS: 
SENT ME DURING ILLNESS. 
BY RICHARD H. DANA. 
I LOVED you ever, gentle flowers, 
And made you playmates of my youth ; 
The while your spirit stole 
In secret to my soul, 
To shed a softness through my ripening powers, 
And lead the thoughtful mind to deepest truth. 
And now, when weariness and pain 
Had cast you almost from my breast, 
With each a smiling face, 
In all your simple grace, 
You come once more to take me back again 
From pain to ease, from weariness to rest. 
Kind visitants ! through my sick-room 
You seem to breathe an air of health, 
And with you looks of joy 
To wake again the doy, 
And to the pallid cheek restore its bloom, 
And o’er the desert mind pour boundless wealth. 
And whence ye came, by brimming stream, 
‘Neath rustling leaves, with birds within, 
Again I musing tread— 
Forgot my restless bed, 
And long sick hours—Too short the blesséd 
dream ! 
I woke to pain !—to hear the city’s din | 












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