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Jes, 
rine, 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
And if those children of the insensate earth 
Go down in peace to a prolific grave,— 
If Nature raises in continuous birth 
The plant whose present grace she will not 
save,— 
So some deep-grounded root or visible seed, 
When these heart-blossoms fade, may still 
remain, 
In a new season of thy being, decreed 
To rise to light and loveliness again. 
, 
THE FRAGRANT AIR-FLOWER. 
BY T. K. HERVEY. 
MEn say there is a gentle flower, 
That, born beneath an eastern sky, 
Without the gift of sun or shower, 
Gives out its precious sigh ; 
That—with affection—sweetly dwells 
Beneath the Indian’s stately doom, 
Or freely throws its fragrant spells 
Around his lowly home,— 
Fed only by that sacred air 
That, as a spirit, hovers there ? 





















