THE 
FLOWER-DIAL. 
Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours 
As they floated in light away. 
By the opening and the folding flowers. 
That laugh to the summer’s day. 
Thus had each moment its own rich hue, 
And its graceful cup and bell. 
In whose coloured vase might sleep the dew. 
Like the pearl in an ocean-shell. 
To such sweet signs might the time have flowed 
In a golden current on. 
Ere from the garden, man’s first abode. 
The glorious guests were gone. 
So might the days have been brightly told— 
Those days of songs and dreams,— 
When shepherds gathered their flocks of old 
By the blue Arcadian streams. 
So in those isles of delight, that rest 
Far off in a breezeless main. 
Which many a bark, with a weary guest. 
Has sought, but still in vain. 
