Wallflower. 
285 
*' Sweet wallflower, sweet wallflower! 
Thou conjurest up to me 
Full many a soft and sunny hour 
Of boyhood’s thoughtless glee; 
When joy from out the daisies grew 
In woodland pastures green, 
A nd Summer skies were far more blue 
Than since they e’er have been. 
“ Now Autumn’s pensive voice is heard 
Amid the yellow bowers; 
The robin is the regal bird, 
And thou the queen of flowers ! 
He sings on the laburnum-trees, 
Amid the twilight dim, 
And Araby ne’er gave the breeze 
Such scents as thou to him. 
“ Rich is the pink, the lily gay, 
The rose is Summer’s guest; 
Bland are thy charms when these decay, 
As flowers first, last, and bestl 
There may be grander in the bower. 
And statelier on the tree, 
But wallflower, loved wallflower, 
Thou art the flower for me 1 ’* 
