TULIP. 
159 
Like V enus rising from her shell, 
Amidst the spring-tide of the deep. 
Two shapely leaves will first unfold, 
Then on a loose elastic stem, 
The verdant bud shall turn to gold, 
And open in a diadem. 
Not one of Flora’s brilliant race 
A form more perfect can display; 
Art could not feign more simple grace, 
Nor Nature take a line away. 
Yet rich as morn of many a hue. 
When flushing clouds through darkness strike, 
The tulip’s petals shine in dew, 
All beautiful,—but none alike. 
Kings on their bridal, might unrobe 
To lay their glories at its feet; 
And queens their sceptre, crowns, and globe, 
Exchange for blossom, stalk, and root. 
Here could I stop and moralize ; 
Lady, I leave that part to thee ; 
Be thy next birth in Paradise, 
Thy life to come eternity. 
P 
