244 SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. 



Too much gladness brings to gloom 

 Those who on the gods presume. 



WE are the sweet flowers, 

 Born of sunny showers, 

 (Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty 



saith ;) 



Utterance, mute and bright, 

 Of some unknown delight, 

 We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple 



breath : 



All who see us love us 

 We befit all places : 



Unto sorrow we give smiles and unto graces, 

 races. 



Mark our ways, how noiseless 

 All, and sweetly voiceless, 

 Though the March-winds pipe, to make our 



passage clear ; 

 Not a whisper tells 

 Where our small seed dwells, 

 Nor is known the moment green, when our tips 

 appear. 



