mas 
THE PJETRY OF FLOWERS. 18 
FLOWERS: 
SENT ME DURING ILLNESS. 
BY RICHARD H. DANA. 
I loved you ever, gentle flowers, 
And made you playmates of my youth; 
The while your spirit stole 
In secret to my soul, 
‘'o shed a softness through my ripening powers, 
And lead the thoughtful mind to deepest truth. 
And now, when weariness and pain 
Had cast you almost from my breast, 
With each a smiling face, 
In all your simple grace, 
You come once mere to take me back again 
From pain to ease, from weariness to rest. 
Kind visitants! through my sick room 
You seem to breathe an air of health, 
And with your looks of joy 
To wake again the boy, 
And to the pallid cheek restore its bloom, 
And o’er the desert mind pour boundless wealth 
And whence ye came, by brimming stream, 
"Neath rustling Isaves, with birds within. 



