WALL-FLOWER. 
115 
And still I thought that shatter’d tower 
The mightiest work of human power. 
SCOTT. 
TO THE WALL-FLOWER. 
ANON. 
I will not praise the often-flatter’d Rose 
Or virgin-like, with blushing charms half seen, 
Or when in dazzling splendour, like a queen, 
All her magnificence of state she shows; 
No, nor that nun-like LiJy, which but blows 
Beneath the valley’s cool and shady screen; 
Nor yet the Sun-flower, that with warrior mien, 
Still eyes the orb of glory where it glows; —* 
But thou, neglected Wall-flower, to my breast 
And muse art dearest, wildest, sweetest flower, 
To whom alone the privilege is given 
Proudly to root thyself above the rest 
As genius does, and, from thy rocky tower, 
Send fragrance to the purest breath of heaven. 
THE WALL-FLOWER. 
DELTA. 
The Wall-flower — the Wall-flower, 
How beautiful it blooms! 
It gleams above the ruin’d tower, 
Like sun-light over tombs; 
