ORCHIDS. 
And, in the constancy of Nature’s course, 
The regular return of genial months, 
And renovation of a faded world, 
See, not to wonder at..... 
All we behold is miracle; but, seen 
So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
Where now the vital energy that moved, 
While summer was, the pure and subtile lymph 
Through th’ imperceptible meandering veins 
Of leaf and flower? It sleeps; and th’ icy touch 
Of unprolific winter has impressed 
A cold stagnation on th’ intestine tide. 
But let the months go round, a few short months, 
And all shall be restored. These naked shoots, 
Barren as lances, among which the wind 
Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, 
Shall put their graceful foliage on again, 
And, more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 
Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. 
Then each, in its peculiar honors clad, 
Shall publish even to the distant eye 
Its family and tribe... .. 
The beauties of the wilderness are His 
That makes so gay the solitary place, 
Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms 
That cultivation glories in are His. 
Me sets the bright procession on its way, 
And marshals all the order of the year; 
He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, 
And blunts its pointed fury; in its case, 
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, 
Uninjured with inimitable arts 5 
And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, 
Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 
CowPErR. 
