
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
But I love the modest mien, 
Still I love the modest mien 

Of gentle evening fair, and her star-train’d quest 
‘* Didst thou, shepherd, never find 
Pleasure is of pensive kind ? 
Has thy cottage never known 
That she loves to dwell alone? 
Dost thou not at evening hour 
Feel some soft and secret power 
Gliding o’er thy yielding mind, 
Leave sweet serenity behind, 
While, all disarm’d, the cares of day 
Steal through the falling gloom awav? 
Love to think thy lot was laid 
In this undistinguish’d shade. 
Far from the world’s infectious view 
Thy little virtues safely blew. 
Go, and in day’s more dangerous hog 
fzuard thy emblematic flower.”’ 
























