60 WILD FLOWERS. 
More wide your nectared leaves, where lab’ring sings 
The honey seeking bee, or in gay flight 
Hovers the dainty butterfly, we might 
Deem ye, too, insects, birds without wings. 
Ye are the stars of earth, and dear to me 
Is each small twinkling bud that wanders free 
’Mid glade or woodland, or by murm’ring stream, 
For ye to me are more than sweet or fair— 
I love ye for the mem’ries that ye bear 
Of by-gone hours, whose bliss was but a dream. 
Violets. 
Sweet violets, Love’s paradise, that spread 
Your gracious odors, which you couched bears 
Within your paly faces, 
Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind 
That plays amidst the plain; 
If, by the favor of propitious stars, you gain 
Such grace as in my lady’s bosom place to find, 
Be proud to touch those places. 
