74 WITH HERBS AND FLOWERS 



Wak'd to a rapture unaware, 



Your rootlet, iris, stirr'd with faith ; 

 You caught the voice of Him who saith : 

 " Spring is the vapour of my breath, 



And sap the sound of answered prayer." 



EDMUND GOSSE. 



FLOWERS 



I WILL not have the mad Clytie, 



Whose head is turned by the sun ; 

 The tulip is a courtly queen, 



W T hom, therefore, I will shun ; 

 The cowslip is a country wench, 



The violet is a nun ; 

 But I will woo the dainty rose, 



The queen of every one. 



The pea is but a wanton witch, 



In too much haste to wed, 

 And clasps her rings on every hand ; 



The wolfsbane I should dread ; 

 Nor will I dreary rosemarye, 



That always mourns the dead ; 

 But I will woo the dainty rose, 



With cheeks of tender red. 



The lily is all in white, like a saint, 



A nd so is no mate for me ; 

 And the daisy's cheek is tipped with 

 a blush, 



She is of such low degree ; 



