


Again ] musing tread— 
Forgot my restless b 
And long, sick hours.— 
dream ! 
I woke to pain !—to hear the city’s din! 


Too short the bleased 

it time nor pain shall ever steal 
uth or be auty from my mind, 
And blessings on ye, Flowers. 
oon ee few with me your hours, 
The beauty, and the heart to feel, 
in fier who Saat you, ye will leave behind! 

——_e— 
THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
BY SHELLY. 

PART I. 
SENSITIVE plant in a garden grev 
1d the young winds fed it with sily er dew; 
open’d its fan-like leaves to the light, 
id closed them Beneath the kisses of night, 



And the sprir 1g arose on the garden fair, 
‘it of love, felt every where ! 
avo t es eee ead A 
lower and herb on earth’s dark breast 
irom the dreams of ‘ts wintry rest. 























