Song. — Bower Of Love. Poem by Fidelia S T Hill

Fitz Eustace.

In gay parterres where I have been
What groups of gaudy flowers I've seen
Yes, flowers which some call fair!
The tulip proud, with painted cheek
Carnations of a mingled streak
And sun flowers flourished there.
The marigold in shining pride
Looked like a glowing Indian bride
With poppies bright and gay,
Jonquils their honied fragrance shed,
And wall-flowers from their sheltered bed
Appeared to greet the day.
To find a flower in vain I strove
To plant within my Bower of Love.
Methought when I beheld the rose,
This is the sweetest flower that blows
And there is none so fair.
I plucked it, but my hand was torn,
Its graceful leaves concealed the thorn
Which ever rancles there.
I left the treacherous rose in haste,
And journeying thro' this desert waste
In rapture here surveyed
A beauteous lily; Nature's child,
Whose breath perfumed the lonely wild,
In snowy vest arrayed:
Flora be praised! no more I'll rove,
This flower shall grace my Bower of Love.