

THE FOETRY OF FLOWERS. 
There may be gaudier on the bower, 
And satel er on the ree ; 
But wall-flower, loved wall-flower, 
Thou art the flower for me ! 
ah 
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER 
BY T. MOORE. 
"Tis the last rose of summer 
Left blooming alone, 
All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone ; 
No flower of her kindred, 
No rose-bud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes 
And give sigh for sigh. 
I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one 
To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 
Go sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 
Thy leaves on the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden 
Lie scentless and dead. 
So soon may I follow 
When ae ndsh uips ( 
And from love’s shining circle 
The gems drop away: 



