











THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
THE NIGHT-SHADE. 
BY BARRY CORNWALL. 
TREAD aside from my starry bloom ! 
IT am the nurse who feed the tomb 
(The tomb, my child 
With dainties piled, 
Until it grows strong as a tempest wild. 
Trample not on a virgin flower! 
I am the maid of the midnight hour; 
I bear sweet sleep 
To these who weep, 
And lie on their eyelids dark and deep. 
Tread not thou on my snaky eyes! 
i\ I am the worm that the weary prize, 
The Nile’s soft asp, 
That they strive to grasp, 
And one that a queen has loved to clasp! 
Pity me! I amshe whom man 
Hath hated since ever the world began; 
L soothe his brain, 
In the night of pain, 
But at morning 


he waketh—and all ig vain. 
