116 FLORA AND THALIA. 



White bud ! that in meek beauty so dost lean, 



Thy cloistered cheek as pale as moonlight snow, 

 Thou seem'st beneath thy large high leaf of green, 



An eremite beneath his mountain's brow. 

 White bud ! thou'rt emblem of a lovetide thing, 



The broken spirit that its anguish bears 

 To silent shades ; and there sits offering 



To heaven the holy fragrance of its tears. 



ANOy. 



Sweet flower, you fondly strive to hide 



Your lovely form public view, 

 While the gay blossom's eastern pride 



Appears in every varied hue. 



So will a cultur'd feeling mind, 



Oft trembling shrink from worldly gaze ; 



Whilst flippant wit, at ease reclined. 

 Spreads all around its transient rays. 



Yet do I love that modest flower, 



Which blossoms in the humble shade, 



And asks not for the sun's bright power, 

 By which this splendid plant's arrayed. 



