
v6, 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 

And when the rude hands the twin buds sever 
They die, and they shall blossom never ; 
Yet the thorns be sharp as ever ; 
Just like Love. 
ea 
“GO TO THE FOREST SHADE.” 
BY MRS. HEMANS. 
Go to the forest shade— 
Seek thou the well known glade, 
Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie, 
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, 
Like dark eyes fill’d with sleep, 
And bathed in hues of summer’s midnight sky 
Bring me their buds, to shed 
Around my dying bed 
A breath of May, and of the wood’s repose ; 
For I in sooth depart 
With a reluctant heart, 
That fain would linger where the bright sun glows, 
Fain would I stay with thee— 
Alas! this may not be ; 
Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours! 
Go where the fountain’s breast 
Catches, in glassy rest, 
Tae dim green light that pours through laurel 
towers. 
239 





