Tho' dogrose and anemone are fair in their degree, The rose that blooms by garden-walls still is the rose for me.

If a Magdalen were demanded of him, he would not condescend to model a Venus and then place a book and skull upon a rock beside her; nor did he imagine that the bloom and beauty of a laughing Faun were fitting attributes for the preacher of repentance.

"Here I am after a hard morning's work, winding up accounts, &c." "You go to-morrow?" "Yes, trusting that you will soon follow; though you might be a cockney born, your bloom is town-proof.

It comes like the thief in the gloaming; It comes, and none may foretell The place of the comingthe glaring; They live in a sleepless spell That wizens, and withers, and whitens; It ages the young, and the bloom Of the maiden is ashes of roses The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom.

Yet as we reach that Flower to clasp, It seems to mock the cheated grasp, And whisper soft, with siren glee, "My bloom is notoh not for thee!" II.

This old jailbird swindled another crook, Bloom" "Oh, Bloom was a crook too, was he?" chuckled Mr. Tutt.

Ah, of all earth's fragrant flowers in the bowers on her breast, Sure the blooms which memory brings us are the brightest and the best; And the fairest, rarest blossoms ne'er could win my love, I know, Like the sweet old-fashioned posies mother tended long ago.

Keats died at twenty-six, leaving behind him a body of poetry hardly less wonderful than Coleridge had fashioned at the same age; and another poet sang of him: "The bloom, whose petals, nipt before they blew, Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste.

Before the yucca has come to flower, while yet its bloom is a creamy cone-shaped bud of the size of a small cabbage, full of sugary sap, the Indians twist it deftly out of its fence of daggers and roast it for their own delectation.

All suffering seems to have descended upon her,and there are some natures whose power of enjoyment, so infinite, yet so deep as to be hidden, is balanced only by as infinite a power to endure; she learned anew, as she says, and intensely, "what a long dream of misery is life from which health's bloom has been brushed,that irreparable bloom,and how far more terrible is the doom of those in whom the nerve-life has been untoned."

The bloom that was coming up into her face was a sight worth seeing.