Page:Voice of Flowers.pdf/47

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's many a flower that proudly springs Amid the gaudy world's parterre, Caress'd by Fashion's painted wings, To Folly dear.

Whose flaunting petals woo the sun, Heedless of Beauty's transient lot, But wither ere the day is done, Unwept, forgot.

Yet some there are that bloom apart, With meekly consecrated charm. Whose gifts of fragrance cheer the heart Like healing balm.

O'er the blest spot, where erst they grew, The eye of Love its tears shall shed, And Pain and Penury bedew Their funeral bed.