THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 4} 
I'he May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine $ 
But, lady, weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of Pale cypress-tree, 
Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the iauwhing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
T’o patriot and to sage be due; 
The myrtle bees ae s lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
Then, lady, twine no wreath Bo me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tre 
a merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 
an Ai bin bind Bee bonnet blue 
With heath and harebell dipp’d in dew ; 
On favour’d Erin’s crest be seen 
The flower she loves of emerald green=— 
But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 
Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for minstrel’s hair ; 
And while his crown of laurel leaves 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell; 
But when you hear the passing bell, 
Then, lady, twine a wr 
And twine it of the cypre 


