THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 207 
And Ignorance, with skeptic eye, 
Hope’s patient smile shall wandering view; 
Or mock her fond credulity, 
As her soft tears the spot bedew. 
Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear! 
The sun, the shower indeed shall come; 
The promised verdant shoot appear. 
And Nature bid her blossoms bloom. 
And thou, 0 virgin queen of spring, 
Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed, 
Bursting thy green shade’s silken string. 
Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed; 
Unfold thy robes of purest white, 
Unsullied from thy darksome grave, 
And thy soft petals’ silvery light 
In the mild breeze unfettered wave. 
So Faith shall seek the lowly dust 
Where humble sorrow loves to lie, 
And bid her thus her hopes intrust, 
And watch with patient, cheerful eye. 
And bear the long, cold wintry night, 
And bear her own degraded doom, 
And wait till heaven’s reviving light. 
Eternal spring! shall burst the gloom. 
