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GARDENS, WREATHS, &c. 
Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white, 
Low-bent, and blushing inward ,* nor jonquils 
Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissus fair, 
As o’er the fabled fountain hanging still; 
Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks, 
Nor, shower’d from ev’ry bush, the damask rose; 
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, 
With hues on hues expression cannot paint, 
The breath of nature and her endless bloom. 
GARDEN LECTURE. 
EVANS. 
Amid my garden’s broider’d paths I trod, 
And there my mind soon caught her favourite clue; 
I seem’d to stand amid the church of God, 
And flowers were preachers, and (still stranger) drew 
From their own life and course 
The love they would enforce, 
And sound their doctrine was, and every precept true. 
And first the Sunflower spake. Behold, he said, 
How I unweariedly from dawn to night 
Turn to the wheeling sun my golden head, 
And drink into my disk fresh draughts of light, 
O mortal! look and learn ; 
So, with obedient turn, 
From womb to grave pursue the Sun of life and might. 
