TUBEROSES.
By LAURA GARLAND CARR.
In misty greenhouse aisles or garden walks,
In crowded halls or in the lonely room,
Where fair tuberoses, from their slender stalks,
Lade all the air with heavy, rich perfume,
My heart grows sick; my spirits sink like lead,—
The scene before me slips and fades away:
A small, still room uprising in its stead,
With softened light, and grief's dread, dark array.