





















THE POETRY uF FLOWERS, 16¢ 
Are rays of a moment—are dying when born; 
And pleasure’s best dower 
Is nought but a flower, 
A vanishing dew-drop—a gem. of the morn. MO 
The bright eye is clouded, 
Its brilliancy shrouded, ba iat 
Our strength disappears, we are helpless and lone Hen 
No reason avails us, 
And intellect fails us ; Hi 
Life’s spirit is wasted, and darkness comes on. 

o'er ih 
—t-—- hint a 
round, i 
TO THE SNOW-DROP. 
BY BARRY CORNWALL. 
or high Prerry firstling of the year ! | 
Herald of the host of flowers, 
Hast thou left my cavern drear, Wate! 
In the hope of summer hours ? Wi 
Back unto my earthen bowers ! a 
Back to thy warm world below, | i) 
Till the strength of suns and showers WF 
y} Quell the now relentless snow ! 

Art stil here ?—Alive? and blithe 2 Hi 
Way: Though the stormy night hath fled, | 
And tle Frost hath pass’d his scythe Win 
O’er .hy small unshelter’d heads i 

