


THE POETRY OF 
Around the fragrant prize, 
With eager grasp thy little f fiy ets close : 
What a 
Vhat are the dreams that haunt thy soft repose { 
What radiance greets thine eyes ? 
For thou art smiling still ; 
Art thou yet wandering in the quiet woods, 
Plucking th’ expanded cups and bursting buds, 
At thine unfetter’d will ? 
Or does some prophet voice 
Murmuring amidst thy dreams, instructive say, 
‘* Prize well these flowers, for thou, beyond 
to-day, 
Shalt m their spells rejoice !”’ 
Yes! thou wilt learn their power, 
When, cherish’d not as now, thou stand’st alone 
Compass’d by sweetly saddening memories, 
thrown 
Round thee by leaf or flower ! 
"Twill come! as seasons come, 
The empire BEF the aes whee these shall raise 
Round thee o e forms of other days 
~ 




















