FLOWERS. 
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 
When he called the flowers so blue and golden, 
Stars, that in earth’s firmament do shine. 
Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 
As. astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, 
Like the burning stars which they beheld. 
Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 
But not less in the bright flowrets under us, 
Stands the revelation of his love. 
Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
Written all over this bright world of ours ; 
Making evident our own creation, 
In these stars of earth, — these golden flowers. 
And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees alike in stars and flowers a part 
Of the self-same, universal being, 
Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 
Gorgeous flowrets in the sunlight shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye. of day, 
Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay. 
Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, 
Flaunting gaily in the golden light ; 
Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 
