

i 86 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
‘¢' Though none us deis 
Blessed are we natheless 
Blessed age and consecra 
In that, Rose, we were created ! 
‘« Oh, shame to poet’s lays, 
Sung for the dole of praise— 
Hoarsely sung upon the highway, 
With an ‘‘ obolum da mihi!” 
Shame ! shame to poet’s soul 
Pining for such a dole, 
When heaven-called to inherit 
The high throne of his own spirit ! 
‘Sit still upon your thrones, 
O ye poetic ones! 
And if, sooth, the wor & decry you 
Why, let that world pass by you! 
‘* Ye to yourselves suffice, 
Without its flatteries ; 
Self-contentedly approve you 
Unto Him who sits above you. 
‘In prayers that upward mount, 
Like to a sunned fount, 
And, in gushing back upon you, 
Bring the music tl 1ey have won you! 














