[Poems by Osgood in] The poetry of flowers and Flowers of Poetry | ||
166
MIRTH.
BROOM.
167
That flies o'er the flower,
Rippling it into
Fresh fairness each hour—
Joy has waved o'er thee
His sun-woven wing,
And dimpled thy cheek,
Like the roses of spring.
[Poems by Osgood in] The poetry of flowers and Flowers of Poetry | ||