















THE POETRY . F FLOWERS. 
pe THE ALMOND-TREE. | 
BY MISS LANDON, 
F'LEEtTINe and falling, 
Where is the bloom 
Of yon fair Almond-tree ¢ 
It is sunk in the tomb. 

the spriy Its tomb wheresoever 
dead, The wind may have borne 
The leaves and the blossoms 
Its roughness has torn. 
Some there are floating 
On yon fountain’s breast,— 
Some line the moss 
Of the nightingale’s nest,— 
Some are just strewn 
U’er the green grass below, 
And there they lie stainless 
As winter’s first snow. 
Yesterday, on the boughs 
They hung scented and fair 5 
To-day they are scatter’d 
The breeze best knows where, 
