184 
WILD FLOWERS. 
1 
Whose writhing form meridian heat defies, 
Bends o’er his work, and every sinew tries ; 
Prostrates the waving treasure at his feet, 
But spares the rising clover, short and sweet. 
Come Health ! come Jollity ! light-footed, come; 
Here hold your revels, and make this your home.” 
Bloomfield. 
Now again for Howitt’s rich prose :_ 
“ What a fragrance comes floating on the 
gale from the clover in the standing grass ; from 
the new-mown hay; and from these sycamore 
trees, with all their pendant flowers. It is deli¬ 
cious ; and yet one cannot help regretting that 
the year has advanced so far. Here, the wild 
rose is putting out ; the elder is already in 
flower ; they are all beautiful, but saddening 
signs of the swift-winged time. Let us sit down 
by this little stream, and enjoy the pleasantness 
that it presents, without a thought of the future. 
Ah ! this sweet place is just in its pride. The 
flags have sprung thickly in the bed of the 
brook, and their yellow flowers are beginning 
to show themselves. The green locks of the 
water ranunculuses are lifted by the stream, and 
their flowers form snowy islands on the surface ; 
