












THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
| ON PLANTING A TULIP-ROOT. 
BY MONTGOMERY. 
|| Buried alive beneath the clod, 
Ere long to spring, by second birth, 
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Here lies a bulb the child of earth, || 
A new and nobler work of God. | 

"Tis said that microscopic power 
Might through his swaddling folds descry 
| The infant image of the flower, 
| Too exquisite to meet the eye. II na 
| This vernal suns and rain will swell, | 
Till from its dark abode it peep, 
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Like Venus rising from her shell, 
. . . 7 | 
Amidst the spring-tide of the deep | 
| Two shapely leaves will first unfold ; | 
| Then, on a smooth, elastic stem, || 
| The verdant bud shall turn to gold, 
And open in a diadem. 


A form more perfect can display ! | 
Art could not feign more simple prace || 

XS 
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| Not one of Flora’s brilliant race 
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| Nor Nature take a line awav 
\ 
