No flower is this of fiery hue, 
Nor golden tint it bears; 
It boasts not of cerulean blue, 
Nor pearly whiteness wears; 
Yet who can despise the sweet tints of this flower, 
Though it deck not the lawn, nor adora ladye’s bower. 
Yet only in the shade of night 
It sends its fragrance forth, 
As though it deemed no earthly light 
Were conscious of its worth ; 
So it bends its head low, as it wafts it away 
Ere the star of the morn tells the breaking of day. 
There’s nought beneath the vault of heaven 
That we may useless deem; 
E’en to this plant a moral’s given, 
Though simple it may seem; 
Emblem of meeknes-s ! Oh ! who doth not hallow 
The bright green leaf of the Musk-scented Mallow ! 
