CELA N DINE. 
225 ; 
111 befall the yellow flowers, 
(Children of the flaring hours! 
Buttercups, that will be seen. 
Whether we will see or no ; 
Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine, 
Little, humble Celandine! 
Prophet of delight and mirth, 
Scorned and slighted upon earth ! 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing. 
Singing at my heart’s command. 
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, 
I will sing, as doth behove, 
Hymns in praise of what I love ! 
The same. —woedsworth. 
Pleasures newly found are sweet 
When they lie about our feet: 
February last, my heart 
First at sight of thee was glad ; 
All unheard of as thou art. 
Thou must needs, I think, have had. 
Celandine! and long ago, 
Praise of which I nothing know. 
