WILD FLOWERS. 
95 
Wild Flowers. 
Beautiful children of the woods and fields! 
That bloom by mountain streamlets ’mid the 
heather, 
Or into clusters ’neath the hazels gather— 
Or where by hoary, rocks you make your bields, 
And sweetly flourish on thro’ summer weather— 
I love ye all! 
, Beautiful flowers! to me ye fresher seem 
From the Almighty hand that fashioned all, 
Than those that flourish by a garden-wall; 
! And I can image you as in a dream, 
I Fair, modest maidens, nursed in hamlets small— 
I lore ye all! 
j Beautiful gems! that on the brow of earth 
Are fixed as in a queenly diadem: 
Though lowly ye, and most without a name, 
Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth, 
As light erewhile into the world came— 
I lore ye all I 
