82 POETRY OF THE ROSE. 



How happily ye live in the pure light 



Of loveliness ! 

 Do ye not feel how deeply — wondrously — 



Ye cheer and bless 

 Our checker'd sojourn on this weary earth, 

 Whose wildest, dreariest spots to Flowers have 

 given birth ? 



Do not ye joy to know the pure delight 

 With which we gaze 



Upon your glorious forms ? Are ye not glad, 

 E'en in the praise 



Which our enraptured wonder ever tells, 



While poring o'er the wealth that in ye dwells : 



That wealth of thought, of beauty, and of love, 

 Which may be found 



In each small common herb that springs from out 

 The teeming ground ? 



Do not ye feel thai ye do deeply bless 



Our harsher souls by your dear loveliness ? 



Oh, if 'tis given unto ye to know 



The thrilling power 



Of memories and thoughts that can be read 

 E'en in a flower, 



How ye must all rejoice beneath each look 



Which reads your beauty, like an open book ! 



We love its silent language : strong, though still, 



Is that unheard 

 But all-pervading harmony : it breathes 



No utter'd word. 

 But floats around us, as, in happy dream, 

 We feel the soft sisfh of a waveless stream. 



