FLORAL POESY. 
What can the blessed spring restore 
More gladdening than your charms, 
Bringing the memory once more 
Of lovely fields and farms ! 
Of thickets, breezes, birds, and flowers ; 
Of life’s unfolding prime ; 
Of thoughts as cloudless as the hours ; 
Of souls without a crime. 
Oh! blessed, blessed do ye seem, 
For, even now, I turned 
With soul athirst for wood and stream, 
From streets that glared and burned. 


From the hot town, where mortal care 
His crowded fold doth pen ; 
Where stagnates the polluted air 
In many a sultry den. 

And are ye here ? and are ye here? 
Drinking the dew like wine, 
*Midst living gales and waters clear, | 
And heaven’s unstinted shine. 
I care not that your little life 
Will quickly have run through, 
And the sward with summer children rife 
Keep not a trace of you. 
marr 
For again, again, on dewy plain, 
I trust to see you rise, 
When spring renews the wildwood strain, 
And bluer gleam the skies. 

c 


