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flowers,—my few and precious flowers, what evil hath been here? Came the fierce Frost-King forth last night, so secret and severe? I saw you last with diamond dew fresh on each beauteous head, And little deem'd to find ye thus, all desolate and dead.

White Poppy, tall and full of pride, whose petals' feathery grace With fully rounded orb has decked my simple parlor vase; Thy oozing buds disclose the gum, that swells Hygeia's store, But the sleep of death is on thee now, thy magic spell is o'er.