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“Many in form and bright in hue!
I know your fate, but the earth to strew,
And my thought flies on to immortal bowers,
Where the heart and the rose are not fading flowers.”


ASPHODEL ........ In Heaven I bloom for Thee!

For I would wreath my path below
With lowlier flowers of lighter glow,
And save the sacred, golden bloom
Of Love, with all its pure perfume;
Nor let th' ignoble cares of earth
Profane my bud of heavenly birth,
I'd hide it in my soul and keep
It fresh, with tears that Truth would weep,
And all its incense, light and dew,
I'd fondly hoard for Heaven and you.
Then, till we meet in holier bowers,
Where radiant seraphs tend the flowers,
Wilt thou not keep—through grief and glee—
Love's peerless blossom pure for me,
And wreath with mine, where angels dwell,
Thy spirit's golden Asphodel?
F. S. O.

ALMOND LAUREL ........ You have poisoned my Heart.

Give me back my childhood's truth!
Give me back my guileless youth!
Pleasure, Glory, Fortune, Fame,—
These I will not stoop to claim:
Take them! All of Beauty's power,
All the triumph of this hour,
Is not worth one blush you stole—
Give me back my bloom of soul!
Take the cup and take the gem!
What have I to do with them?
Loose the garland from my hair!
Thou shouldst wind the night-shade there;—
Thou, who wreath'st, with flattering art,
Poison flowers to bind my heart,
Give me back the rose you stole!
Give me back my bloom of soul!
F. S. O.


ANEMONE.—HAREBELL.—SPIDERWORT.

Thou art false, and I resign myself to my fate.

Forgotten! all the love—the pride,
I lavished on thy breast,
So soon—so coldly cast aside,
Unpitied and unblest!
Forgotten! ere the glorious smile,
In my soul left by thee,
Has gone out like a star's pure light,
Within a troubled sea!
Forgotten! ere thy last fond kiss
Has ceased to thrill my heart!—
Ere with the memory of thy touch,
My happy hand can part!
Forgotten! while thy soul-tuned voice
Still lingers on mine ear,
In those deep, low, impassioned tones,
That Love so loves to hear!
Forgotten! then let all forget!—
I lose the world with thee—
I ask no love—no hope—no faith—
Since thou art false to me!
F. S. O.
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CAMELLIA JAPONICA ........ Queen of the Heart.

Raven bands of hair
Droop in graceful braiding;
Eyes of beauty rare,
Flash beneath their shading.
Eyes whose jet-like hue,
Deep and rich and tender,
Speak a spirit true,
Softening all their splendor.
Cheek whereon the rose,
But when feeling wakes it,
Breaks the pure repose,
Ah! how lightly breaks it!
Lips of crimson glow,
From whose sweet enclosure
Loving words and low
Steal with rare composure.
Stately in her pace,
Yet so softly, wearing
All a cygnet's grace
In her queenly bearing!
But the heart within,
All her looks informing,
Kindling every blush,
Every dimple warming!
Making her a joy,
And an hourly blessing,
In each kind employ,
In each fond caressing.
Yielding true and calm,
To each household duty!
Goodness sheds a balm
O'er her maiden beauty.
F. S. O.

MARY.

I know a star—whose light illumes
The wildest gloom with warmth and glory;
I know a rose—whose blush outblooms
The loveliest lip in olden story.
I know a lute—whose warble low,
Might lure an angel down to listen;
I know a pearl—whose tender glow
Is dearer than all gems that glisten.
And who this treasure rich and rare,
Whose witchery every moment varies?
The smile—the lip—the voice—the tear—
The star, rose, lute and pearl are Mary's.
F. S. O.

GRASS ........ Unpretending goodness.

The royal rose—the tulip's glow,—
The jasmine's gold are fair to see,
But while the graceful grasses grow,
Oh! gather them for me!
The pansy's gold and purple wing,
The snow-drop's smile may light the lea,
But while the fragrant grasses spring,
My wreath of them shall be!
F. S. O.

CHINA-ASTER AND FUCHSIA.

Caprice is a woman's privilege.

I think of you, love, every moment,—
When I have a moment to spare—
But the beaux, that are buzzing around me,
All claim of attention a share.
There's dashing, distingue Lord Harry,
And wicked, but witty Sir John;—
'Tis said they're determined to marry:—
Don't you think—you had better come on?
I miss you so much,—when alone, love;
But I've one consolation, you'll hear:
I practice duetts with—my own love!—
My cousin, young Clarence de Vere.
His manly voice chords with mine finely,
You'd think they would melt into one;
He sings “Mia Cara” divinely;
He wants to know—when you'll come on!
Your letters are truly delightful!—
That is—what I've read of them, dear!—
But old Father Time has grown spiteful;
He flies like a fairy king here.
I've learned the new waltz with Lord Harry;
I'm reading Rousseau with Sir John;
How very impassioned his style is!
Mamma thinks—you'd better come on.
Don't hurry your business for me, sir—
Don't trouble yourself in the least—
I'm glowing with health, as you'll see, sir;
My appetite's lately increased;
I've quite cured that troublesome cough, love,
For I ride every day—with Sir John—
And I'm not sure but I shall—go off, love,
By the time—you conclude to come on!
F. S. O.

CORN ........ Riches.

Cupid, in a pet one day,
Pouting with a dainty rage,
Flung his downy darts away,
Angry at our hardened age.
Tears were in his azure eyes;—
“Once,” he cried, “my aim was true;
Once the simple, gay, and wise
Felt my power where'er I flew!
Hearts of stone! no shaft divine,
Slings henceforth my weapon be!
Give me, wealth, thy ingots fine,—
These ensure my victory!”
F. S. O.

HELENIA ........ Tears.

They say I'm just like thee, child;
I grieve to hear them so,
For thou art glad and free, child,
While I am worn with woe.
They say I'm just like thee, love—
Alas! they cannot know,
Who mark my smiles of glee, love,
The source from whence they flow.
A pride I would not alter,
Forbids me to reveal,
Howe'er my soul may falter
The wretchedness I feel.
And so with idle laughter
I while away the hours,
And weep in secret after
O'er memory's buried flowers.
They say I'm all too wild, love,
They chide my reckless joy;
They call me but a child, love,
That plays with every toy.
“A child!” they little know, love,
The woman-woes I've proved;
“Too wild!” 'tis but to show, love,
A soul by grief unmoved.
And so with seeming laughter
I while away the hours,
And weep a moment after
O'er memory's buried flowers!
Yet I was once like thee, sweet;
A singing bird in spring,
My spirit fluttered free, sweet,
On light and sportive wing;
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But Love his arrow sent, love,
And broke the buoyant wing,
And changed to wild lament, love,
The song I used to sing.
And now with mocking laughter,
I wile away the hours,
And weep in anguish after,
O'er memory's buried flowers!
F. S. O

LILY, WATER ....... Purity.

THE SOUL FLOWER.

Fair grew the Lily,
The vestal of flowers,
Nursed by the sunshine,
Kissed by the showers.
Lightly the honey-bee
Sang of his love;
Softly the summer air
Murmured above;
And the wild butterfly,
Beaming and blest,
Folded his frolic wings
On her white breast.
So lent the Lily
Her leaves to the air,
Woven of snow and light,
Holy and fair.
All that came to her
Went happy away,
For she was pure,
And loving and gay.
Balm, light and melody
Flew to the flower,
Making an Eden
Of bliss in her bower.
Meekly she bent
When the storm darkened by,
Brightly she smiled again
To the blue sky.
18

And she thanked God
For his kindness and care,
With her heart's incense,
That rose like a prayer.
Thus pure and beautiful,
Ne'er could she err;
For she loved all things,
And all things, her!
So when Death came to her,
With her last sigh,
Up stole the Lily's soul
Into the sky!
F. S. O.

LOVE IN A MIST ........ You bewilder me.

A FLOWER-CHARADE.

The nymphs, in a pet, tripped to Venus one morn,
And declared to the gay queen of Beauty,
That the freaks of THE FIRST could no longer be borne,
That he treated their maiden monitions with scorn,
And laughed at their lessons of duty.
They regretted to say that he dreamed but of play,
While he vowed that he knew more than they did,
And, for their part, they begged she would take him away,
For with chiding and coaxing him, day after day,
They were sure that their bloom was quite faded.
“We would gladly,” they sighed, “keep his little wings tied!
But the moment we bind him, he cries out,
‘No, no! let me go! I've a shaft—I've a bow.’
Then he sharpens his arrow, and frowns at us so,
That we fear he will soon put our eyes out!”
Fair Venus, amused at their innocence, smiled,
But replied with her wonted suavity,—

“My thanks for the tenderness shown to the child;
I know he is petulant, playful and wild,
I wish we could teach him more gravity;
But when he's seen more of the world, he'll outgrow,
I trust, every light peccadillo.
I wish him to study the languages;—so
Fit him out for his travels,—at once let him go,
And Jupiter bless the dear fellow!”
The white doves were harnessed—the car polished bright—
The nymphs and his mother wept o'er him;
He mounted—he bowed—and away like the light,
Past comet and star, sped the Paphian sprite,
With his bow and his arrows before him.
The second he reached at the close of the day,
And he called for a bottle of nectar,
But the blushing bar-maid murmured “What did you say?
Is it this?” and she gave him a glass of tokay—
Ah! do not of mischief suspect her!
The last stole over his senses wild,
With a strange, entrancing power;
He danced—he staggered—he sang—he smiled,
And at length he wandered away, poor child,
To weep in the garden-bower!
His tears sank warm in the earth, and lo!
A flower sprang up, like a fairy!
While the girl, as she saw the boy-god go,
Exclaimed, “He has left me a token though,
In this blossom, wild, glowing and airy!
I will name it for him—the stranger bright,
For I know who it was by his ringlets:”
So she called it THE WHOLE for the wildered sprite,
And it blushed and smiled, through its lattice light,
As she wreathed its soft bloom in her ringlets.
F. S. O.

MARYGOLD ......... The star of Earth.

If when my star, in Love's despite,
Withdraws her beauty from the Night,
I sometimes light, to cheer my way,
An earthly lamp's less sacred ray;
Think not its beam eclipses thine!
In Memory's heaven thou still dost shine.
And oh! when once again afar,
I see thee smile, my idol-star!
How pale, how poor that earth-born ray
Beside thy spirit's heavenly play!
F. S. O.

[Low as the sigh of a flower]

Low as the sigh of a flower
Heard in the stillness of night,
Came the soft tones of the maiden,
Trembling with fear and delight.
F. S. O.
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ROSE, YELLOW ........ Oh! teach me to forget.

Yes! I will do thy bidding;
When yonder sun has set
Forever from the heaven you love,
Then, dearest, I'll forget!
When the dove's winnowing winglet
No longer seeks its nest—
When stars forget to smile in heaven,
And ocean is at rest,
And glowing summer boasts no more
Her radiant roses' birth,
And bloom and light and loveliness
Have vanished from the earth;
Then cold and calm Indifference
Shall smile at fond Regret,
And, lost to Love and Hope and Truth,
My passion I'll forget.
But while the sunlight still recalls
The glorious hours we met
On upland slope, in woody glade,
Ah! how may I forget?
While every pure and lovely thing
Some semblance bears to thee—
While the rose wears thy virgin blush,
Thy floating grace, the sea—
While in the stars thy blessed smile
Looks fondly on me yet,
And the fond dove thy truth portrays,
Ah! how may I forget?
F. S. O.

ROSE, WILD ........ The Blush of Feeling.

Nay! come not to me, if you sigh for the splendor
That 'neath the lash lightens, in Beauty's blue eye;
I have naught but affection true, timid and tender,
If this be not dear to you—all to you—fly!
Ah! seek not my side, if the grace of a ringlet,
That goldenly floats, too beguiling can be;
A love such as yours is, can ne'er want a ringlet—
Go wave it o'er others, but come not to me!
Oh! come not to me, if you watch the glow stealing
O'er Beauty, like roselight of morning on snow;
No bloom warms my cheek, save the wild-rose of Feeling—
If this be not dear to you—all to you—go!
F. S. O.

ROSEBUD, WHITE ........ Innocence.

THE FLOWER-SYLPH'S FROLIC, AT THE BIRTH OF THE ROSEBUD.

In my bower I lay, one balmy day,
When Nature had put on her summer array,
And with me young Fancy, that changeable sprite,
My playfellow ever, by day and by night,
When suddenly raising her magical bell—
It was wrought of a diamond in fairy land—
She rang a sweet peal, that o'er mountain and dell
Went floating in melody merry and bland;
And lo! at the summons a sun-tinted vision
Rose slowly, and softly, and clearly to view,
A scene of delight and enchantment elysian,—
A garden whose blossoms were bathing in dew;
And fair in the midst grew a noble Rose tree,
From whose bosom a voice trembled tenderly low—
Such a voice as you'd fancy, if flowers were free
To speak or to warble, from roses would flow!
“Come hither!” it sang, “come hither!
Come hither, from blossom and bell!
Come! ere the noontide wither
The blooms we love so well!
“Oh! hasten to fill up the measure
Of joy in the Rose-sylph's heart!
I will show you an exquisite treasure
Whose health you must drink ere we part.
“Last night when your bright eyes were closing,
A dear little Rosebud was born!
And in her green cradle reposing,
She's at home to relations this morn!”
Then I heard a low musical laugh of delight,
Each blossom bowed meekly its dew-jeweled head,

While straight through its leaves sprang a sunny-haired sprite,
Warm and sweet with the fragrance and bloom of its bed!
From the Lily a delicate being arose,
As pure as the leaves that had formed her repose,
With silvery winglets, and cheek of faint hue,
Like the sunset-glow stealing those snowy leaves through!
The Violet sent forth a timid young thing,
With eyes of deep blue, and a soft dewy wing;
While from Heart's-ease sprang up a gay spirit and bold,
That fluttered on pinions of purple and gold.
The Tulip laid bare its bright heart, and a fairy
On beautiful rainbow wings laughingly came,
And forth from the Marygold, brilliant and airy,
Flew one whose robe glistened with sparkles of flame.
From the Pink with a blush stole an elegant sprite;
From the Jasmine a sylph with a sun-tinted vest;
And the Hyacinth oped for a being of light,
With a boddice of blue folded over her breast.
The Sensitive-plant at the summons shrank up;
Then trembled and oped with a sigh, full of feeling;
While slow from its dainty and delicate cup
A tender, ethereal creature came stealing.
F. S. O.
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[I own her fair beyond compare]

I own her fair beyond compare,
I own her air, perfection;
But give my bower some timid flower,
That asks, each hour, protection!
F. S. O.

SENSITIVE PLANT ........ Sensibility.

The ear attuned—through Discord's war—
To music's high, harmonious law,
Perceives at once, with shrieking pain,
The one false note that mars the strain.
Ah! had thy heart, by Love's sweet spell,
Each jarring tone been tuned to tell,
Each chord too rudely strained,—how soon
You'd know that mine was out of tune!
F. S. O.
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[Oh God! the vision haunts my day]

Oh God! the vision haunts my day,
And makes a hateful day of night;
With those disheveled locks of gold,
That careless smile's bewildering light,
Why comes she 'twixt my heaven and me,
That radiant child of grace and glee?
Go! witch the world with smile and sigh,
Thou priestess proud at Passion's shrine!
I yield thee every heart save one,
And that is all the world to mine!
Ah! steal not 'twixt my heaven and me,
Thou radiant child of grace and glee!
F. S. O.

VIOLET, BLUE ........ Humility.

FORGIVENESS.

A very little child one day,
Too young to know the harm it did,
Trampled with his small, naked foot,
The place in which a violet hid.
The violet sighed its life away,
Embalming, with its last, faint breath,
The little foot, that thus, in play,
Had put its soft, blue flower to death.
Ah! was it not a tender flower
To lavish all the wealth it had—
Its fragrance—in its dying hour,
Mild, meek, forgiving, mute, though sad?
My little girl, the lesson learn;
Be thou the violet! love thou so!
Retort no wrong, but nobly turn,
And with thy heart's wealth, bless thy foe.
F. S. O.
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[She has woven a spell of enchantment]

She has woven a spell of enchantment,
So subtle, so rare and so sweet,
That I live in a dream of delight,
Love's worshiping slave at her feet.
F. S. O.
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