





THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Yes! twine for me the cypress bough ; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now— 
Stay till a few brief months are past, 
And I have look’d and loved my last ! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With pansies, rosemary, and rue,— 
Then, lady, weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress-tree. 
SS 
THE FADED FLOWERS. 
BY. REV. WALTER COLTON, U. S. N. 
¥C THE LADY WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITR 
A CLUSTER OF FADED FLOWERS. 
Taesz faded flowers a softer grief 
Than blooming ones beget ; 
More tender now on each pale leaf 
The tints that linger yet: 
For all the charms, that cheer’d the past, 
Hang round these hues that fade the last. 
The morn they had their fragrant birth, 
The wild shrubs where they grew, 
The bee that in its matin mirth 
Hung over their pearls of dew, 
Must share alike the floweret’s lot, 
And be with frailer things forgot. 






