102 FLORA IIISTOIllCA. 



The blue sky here and there serenely peeping 

 Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping. 

 And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, 

 A meek and forlorn flower with nought of pride, 

 Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness, 

 To woo its own sad image into nearness. 

 Deaf to light Zephyrus, it would not move ; 

 But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love. 

 So, while the poet stood in this sweet spot, 

 Some fainter gleamings o'er his fancy shot ; 

 Nor was it long ere he had told the tale 

 Of young Narcissus and sad Echo's bale. 



