















THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Yet, though thou fade, 
From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise; 
And teach the maid 
That goodness time’s rude hand defies; 
That virtue lives when beauty dies 
—-b-—— 
HEART’S-EASE. 
[ usEp to love thee, simple flower, 
To love thee dearly whena boy ; 
For thou didst seem in childhood’s hour 
The smiling type of childhood’s joy. 
But now thou only work’st my grief, 
By waking thoughts of pleasures fled 
Give me—give me the wither’d leaf, 
That falls on Autumn’s bosom dead. 
For that ne’er tells of what has been, 
But warns me what I soon shall be; 
It looks not back on pleasure’s scene, 
But points unto futurity. 
I love thee not, thou simple flower, 
For thou art gay, and I am lone; 
Thy beauty died with childhood’s hour— 
The Heart’s-ease from my path is gone, 


