
THE POEIRY OF FLOWERS. 



























yet, rich as morn, of many a hue, 
OT. When flushing clouds through darkness strike Wiad 
{he Tulip’s petals shine in dew tans 
All beautiful, but none alike. 

Se 
TO BLOSSOMS. 
BY HERRICK. 

| Farr pledges of a fruitful tree, HABA 
i Why do ye fall so fast ? Pane 
Your date is not so past uaa 
But yon may stay here yet awhile, HS lh 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 

What ! were ye born to be 
An hour or half’s delight, vane: 
And so to bid good-night ? ire es 
Twas pity nature brought ye forth i 
Merely tc show your worth, fe 
And lose you quite. 
But ye are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne’er so brave : 
And after they have shown their pride, 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
{nto the grave. 

