



THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 

ne season of the tulip cup, 
When blossoms clothe the 
How swe Hi throw the lattice up 
And scent thee on the breeze! 
he Butter ‘ly is then abroad, 
The bee is on the wing, 
And on the hawthorn by the road 
The linnets sit and sing. 

Sweet wall-flower—sweet wall-flowe 
Thou conjurest up to me, 
Full many a soft and sunny hour 
Of boyhood’s thoughtless glee ; 
When joy from out the daises grew 
In woodland pastures green, 
And summer skies were far more blue 
Than since they e’er have been. 
Now autumn’s pensive voice is heard 
Amid the yellow bowers, 
The robin is the regal bird, 
And thou the queen of flowers! 
He sings on the laburnum trees, 
Amid the twilight dim, 
And Araby ne’er gave the breeze 
Such scents as thou to him. 
Rich is the pink, the lily gay, 
The rose is summer’s guest ; 
Bland are thy charms vw 
Of flowers, first, last, and best 
hen these dec 
‘ 
! 
ry 

























