MOKAL OF FLOWERS. 81 



He might have made enough, enough, 



For every want of ours, 

 For luxury, medicine, and toil, 



And yet have made no flowers. 



The ore within the mountain-mine 



Requireth none to grow, 

 Nor doth it need the lotus-flower 



To make the river flow. 



The clouds might give abundant rain, 



The nightly dews might fall, 

 And the herb that keepeth life in man, 



Might yet have drank them all. 



Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, 



All dyed with rainbow light, 

 All fashioned with supremest grace, 



Upspringing day and night ; 



Springing in valleys green and low, 



And on the mountains high, 

 And in the silent wilderness, 



Where no man passeth by ? 



