
SHE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
But thou art emblem of the friend, 
Who, whatsoe’er our lot, 
The balm of faithful love will Jend 
And, true and constant to the end,. 
May die, but alters not. 
THE HALF-BLOWN ROSE; 
BY DANIEL. 
Look, now, now we esteem the half-blewn rose 
The image of thy blush and summer’s honour: 
Whilst yet her tender bud: doth undisclose 
That full of beauty time bestows upen her; 
No sooner spreads her glories to the air, 
But straight her wide-blown pomp comes: ty 
decline ; 
She then is scorn’d that late adorn’d the fair ; 
So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. 
No April can revive thy wither’d flowers, 
Whose springing grace adorns thy glory xow:; 
Swift, speedy time, feather’d- with flying hours, 
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow : 
Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, 
But love now whilst thou mayst be loved:again. 
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