20 
WILD FLOWERS 
What is like thee, fair flower!— 
The gentle and the firm—thus hearing up 
To the blue sky that alabaster cup, 
As to the shower? 
Oh! Love is most like thee,— 
The love of woman,—quivering to the blast 
Through every nerve, yet rooted deep and fast, 
’Midst Life’s dark sea! 
And Faith—Oh! is not Faith 
Like thee, too, Lily,—springing into light, 
Still buoyantly, above the billows’ might, 
Through the storm’s breath ? 
Yes, linked with such high thought, 
Flower, let thine image in my bosom lie! 
Till something there of its own purity 
And peace is wrought:— 
Something yet more divine 
Than the clear, pearly, virgin lustre shed 
Forth from thy breast upon the river’s bed, 
As from a shrine! 
