


THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Fade, gentle flower ! 
All thy white leaves close, 
Having shown thy beauty, 
Time ’tis for repose. 
Die, gentle flower, 
In the silent sun ! 
Lo! all pangs are over, 
All thy tasks are done ! 
Day hath no more glory, 
Though he soars on high ; 
Thine is all man’s story,— 
Live,—and love,—and die. 

TO THE DAISY. 
ay RIGHT flower ! whose home is every- 
where, 
{| Bold in maternal Nature’s care, 
~ And all the long year through the heir 
Of joy or sorrow ; 



