76 WILD FLOWERS. 
If’t were but to pierce the mind 
With a single gentle thought, 
Who shall deem thee harsh or blind ? 
Who that thou hast vainly wrought? 
Hoard the gentle virtue caught 
From the Snow-drop,*—reader wise! 
Good is good, wherever taught, 
On the ground or in the skies! 
Flowers. 
We have left, behind us, 
The riches of the meadows,—and now come 
To visit the virgin Primrose where she dwells, 
’Midst harebells and the wild-wood hyacinths. 
’T is here she keeps her court. Dost see yon bank 
The sun is kissing ? Near,—go near! for there, 
(’Neath those broad leaves, amidst yon straggling 
grasses,) 
Immaculate odors from the Violet 
Spring up forever! Like sweet thoughts that come 
