WILD FLOWERS. 
48 
An Extract. 
This mighty oak— 
By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem 
Almost annihilated—not a prince, 
In all the proud old world beyond the deep, 
E’er wore his crown as loftily as he 
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 
With scented breath, and look so like a smile, 
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 
An emanation of the indwelling Life, 
A visible token of the upholding Love, 
That are the soul of this wide universe. 
• 
