


FLORAL POESY. 
TO A WILLOW-TREE. 
HERRICK. 
THOU art to all lost love the best, 
The only true plant found ; 
Wherewith young men and maids distrest, 
And left of love, are crowned. 
When once the lover’s rose is dead, 
Or laid aside forlorn, 
Then willow garlands ’bout the head, 
Bedewed with tears, are worn. 
When with neglect the lover’s bane, 
Poor maids rewarded be ; 
For their love lost, their only gain 
Is but a wreath from thee. 
And underneath thy cooling shade, 
When weary of the light, 
The love-spent youth and love-sick maid 
Come to weep out the night. 
“THE GARLAND. 
MOORE, 
A WILLOW garland thou didst send, 
Perfumed, last day, to me; 
Which did but only this portend : 
I was forsook by thee. 

