WILD FLOWERS. 107 
We might have had enough, enough 
For every want of ours, 
For luxury, medicine, and toil, 
And yet have had no flowers. 
The ore within the mountain mine 
Requireth none to grow; 
Nor doth it need the lotus-flower 
To make the river flow. 
The clouds might give abundant rain; 
The nightly dews might fall, 
And the herb that keepeth life in man, 
Might yet have drunk them all. 
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made 
All dyed with rainbow-light, 
All fashioned with supremest grace, 
Upspringing day and night 
Springing in valleys green and low 
And on the mountains high, 
And in the silent wilderness 
Where no man passes by ? 
