

THE FOETRY OF FLOWERS, 

















He 
THE VOICE OF THE FLOWERS, awe 
wot 
BY MARY ANNE BROWNE. of 
Buossoms, that lowly bend, i 
Shutting your leaves from evening’s chilly dew ne 
While your rich odours heavily ascend, rn 
The flitting winds to woo. Th 
I walk at silent eve, i" 
When scarce a breath is in the garden bowers, ‘ah 
And many a vision and wild fancy weave, iri 
’*Midst ye, ye lovely flowers; ie 
Beneath the cool green boughs, hy 
And perfumed bells of the fresh blossom’d line, hah 
That stoop and gently touch my feverish brow Lido 
Fresh in their summer prime ; Of 
Or in the mossy dell, i 
Where the pale primrose trembles at a breath; hl 
Or where the lily, by the silent well, Nay 
Beholds her form beneath ; Th 
Or where the rich queen-rose | Ye 
Sits, throned and blushing, ’midst her leaves and hit 
MOSs ; ih 
Or where the wind-flower, pale and fragile, blows, | ie 
Or violets banks emboss, 

