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THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 

And shuns the falser gloss of art ; 
’'Tis he extracts a bliss refined, 
Congenial to the virtuous mind, 
The tender feeling heart. 
Thy smiles young innocence invite, 
What time thy lids awake, 
In shadowy lane to taste delight, 
Or mazy tangled brake. 
The infant troop of rosy hue, 
And gay with health I seem to view, 
While pleasure lights their laughing eyes, 
With little hands a wreath combine, 
Their fugitive delights entwine, 
And boast their fragrant prize. 
Ah! happy breasts !. unknown to pain 
I would not, spoil your joys; 
Nor vainly teach you to complain 
Of life’s delusive toys. 
Be jocund still, still sport and smile, 
Nor dream of woe or future guile ; 
For soon shall ye awaken’d find 
The joys of life’s sad thorny way, 
But fading flowerets of a day 
Cut dewn by every wind. 



