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THE POETRY CF FLOWERS. 
Hush! ’tis thou that dreaming art, 
Calmer is her gentle heart. 
Yes! o’er fountain, vale, and grove, 
Leaf and flower, hath gush’d her love , 
But that passion, deep and true, 
Knows not of a last adieu. 
Types of lovelier forms than these, 
In their fragile mould she sees ; 
Shadows of yet richer things, 
Born beside immortal springs, 
Into fuller glory wrought, 
Kindled by surpassing thought . 
Therefore in the lily’s leaf 
She can read no word of grief; 
O’er the woodbine she can dweh, 
Murmuring not—Farewell ! farewell ! 
And her dim yet speaking eye, 
Greets the violet solemnly. 
Therefore, once, and yet again, 
Strew them o’er her-bed of pain; 
From her chamber take the gloom, 
With a light and flush of bloom: 
So should one depart, who goes 
Where no death can touch the rose. 
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