FLOWERS, 
She cannot weep, more faint she grows, 
More deadly pale and still; 
Flowers ! oh, a flower ! a Winter Rose, 
That tiny hand to fill. 
Go, search the fields ! the lichen wet 
Bends o’er th’ unfailing well; 
Beneath the furrow lingers yet 
The scarlet Pimpernel. 
Peeps not a Snowdrop in the bower, 
Where never froze the spring ? 
A Daisy ? ah! bring childhood’s flower! 
The half-blown Daisy bring ! 
Yes, lay the Daisy’s little head 
Beside the little cheek; 
Oh, haste! the last of five is dead! 
The childless cannot speak ! 
Flowers : 
SENT ME DURING ILLNESS. 
Richard H. Dana. 
LOVED you ever, gentle flowers, 
And made you playmates of my youth; 
The while your spirit stole 
In secret to my soul, 
To shed a softness through my ripening powers, 
And lead the thoughtful mind to deepest truth, 






















