



134 TAE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
That in these days your praises should be sung 
On many hee which he has lately strung ; 
And when again your dewiness he kisses, 
Tell him, J have you in my world of blisses : 
So hapl; y ween I rove in some far vale, 
His mighty voice may come upen the gale. 
Here are sweet-peas, on tiptoe for a flight : 
With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, 
And taper fingers catching at = things 
To bind them all about with tiny rings. 
What next ? a turf of evening ees 
O’er which the mind may hover till it dozes 3 
O’er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, 
But that ’tis ever startled by the leap 
Of buds into ripe flowers. 
———_——- 
THE JASMINE. 
BY MOORE. 
’T was midnight—through the lattice wreath’é 
With woodbine, many a neering breathed 
From plants that wake when others sleep; 
From timid jasmine buds that keep 
‘heir odour to themselves al gayi ; 
Bp when. the 
Le 



the d ImIATIa canrat fr 
the delicious secret out 

2 every breeze that roams 






