WILD FLOWERS. 
Ah!—some lie amidst the dead, 
(Many a giant stubborn tree,— 
Many a plant, its spirit shed,) 
That were better nursed than thee! 
What hath saved thee ? Thou wast not 
’Gainst the arrowy winter furred,— 
Armed in scale,—but all forgot 
When the frozen winds were stirred. 
Nature, who doth clothe the bird, 
Should have hid thee in the earth, 
Till the cuckoo’s song was heard, 
And the Spring let loose her mirth. 
Nature,—deep and mystic word! 
Mighty mother, stiE unknown! 
Thou didst sure the Snow-drop gird 
With an armor aE thine own! 
Thou, who sent’st it forth alone 
To the cold and suEen season, 
(Like a thought at random thrown,) 
Sent it thus for some grave reason! 
