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.- TI 
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The Meath of the Flowers. 
CO. Bowles. 
OW happily, how happily the flowers die away! 
Oh, could we but return to earth as easily as they | 
Just live a life of sunshine, of innocence and bloom, 
Then droop, without decrepitude or pain, into the tomb. 
The gay and glorious creatures! they neither toil nor spin. 
Yet, lo! what goodly raiment they’re all apparell’d in ! 
No tears are on their beauty, but dewy gems more bright 
Than even brow of Eastern Queen, endiadem’d with light. 
The young rejoicing creatures! their pleasures never fall, 
Nor lose in sweet contentment, because so free to all; 
The dew, the shower, the sunshine, the balmy blessed air, 
Spend nothing of their fresheness, though all may freely 
share. 
The happy, careless creatures! of Time they take no heed, 
Nor weary at his creeping, nor tremble at his speed ; 
Nor sigh with sick impatience, or wish the light away, 
And when ’tis gone, ery dolefully, would God that it were day! 








