TUE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 14 
v 3 £ 
Yet, oh! festal rose 
Summer, hope, and love 
O’er that bed of pain, 
Meet in thee, yet wove 
Too, too frail a claim 
In its embracing links the lovely to detain. 
Smilest thou, gorgeous flower ?— 
O! within the spells 
Of thy beauty’s power 
Something dimly dwells, 
At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells, 
All the soul forth flowing 
n that rich perfume, 
.¢ proud life glowing 
at radiant bloom, 
Have they no place but here, beneath th’ o’ere 
shadowing tomb ? 
Crown’st thou but the daughters 
Of our tearful race ?— 
Teaven’s own purest waters 
Well might bear the trace 
Of thy consummate fcrm, melting to softer grace. 



