



THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
HUMAN FLOWERS. 
BY WILLIAM HOWITT 
Sweet Lucy has chosen the lily, as pale, 
And as lowly as she, still the pride of the vale: 
An emblem more fitting, so fair and retired, 
Heart could not have chosen, nor fancy desired. 
And Ellen, gay Ellen, a symbol as true, 
In the hare-bell has found, and its de Neate blue: 
For ever the blossoms are fresh in her eyes, 
As dewy, as sweet, and more soft than the skies. 
And Jane, im her thoughtfuiness, conscious of 
power, 
Has gazed in her fervour on many a flower: 
Has chosen, rejected, then many combined 
To blazon her graces of person and mind. 
Whilst Isabel’s face, like the dawn, in one flush— 
Far need she net wander to bank and to bush; 
Well the tint of her cheek the young Isabel 
knows, 
For the blossom of health is the beautiful rose. 
And Mary. the pensive, who loves in the dusk 
Of be oardens to muse, when the air is = musk 
Will leave all its beautie 
= 1 
, 
Ko ¢ os aze, meek in though? on "hs onueentie star, 





