60 THE FABLES OF FLORA. 



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And sure, more lovely to behold. 

 Might nothing meet the wistful eye. 



Than crimson fading into gold. 

 In streaks of fairest symmetry. 



The beauteous flower with pride elate. 

 Ah me! that pride with beauty dwells! 



Vainly affects superior state. 

 And thus in empty fancy swells. 



" O lustre of unrivalled bloom! 



" Fair painting of a hand divine! 

 *' Superior far to mortal doom, 



" The hues of heaven alone are mine! 



"Away, ye worthless, formless race! 



" Ye weeds, that boast the name of flowers! 

 " No more my native bed disgrace, 



" Unmeet for tribes so mean as yours^l 



