YHE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 183 
skies look’d coldly down 
1a royal crown; 
Then, drop by drop, at leisure, | 
rain for pleasure. 
_ 
o 
m 
¢ 
Whereat the earth did seem 
To waken from a dream, 
Winter frozen, winter frozen, || 
Her anguish eyes unclosing. 1 
Said to the rose, ‘‘ Ha, Snow! | 
oe art thou fallen so? {| 
Thou who wert enthronéd stately F 
Along my mountains lately. \| 
‘Holla, thou world-wide snow 
And art thou wasted so? || 
With a little bough to catch thee 
And a little bee to watch thee 2”’ \| 
| 
Poor rose, to be misknown ! 
Would she had ne’er been blown, | 
In her loneness, in her loneness, | 
All the sadder for that oneness. || 
Some words she tried to say, 
Some sigh—ah, well away! I! 
| But the passion did o’ercome her | 
And the fait frail leaves dropp’d ft from ‘OF. } 
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