140 
FLORAL POESY. 
Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
Kindly unassuming spirit ! 
Careless of thy neighborhood, 
Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
On the moor, and in the wood, 
In the lane ; there’s not a place 
Howsoever mean it be, 
But ’tis good enough for thee. 
Ill befall the yellow flowers, 
Children of the flaring hours ! 
Buttercups that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no; 
Others, too, of lofty mien, 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine. 
Little, humble Celandine. 
Prophet of delight and mirth. 
Ill reputed upon earth ; 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing, 
Serving at my heart’s command, 
Tasks that are no tasks renewing, 
I will sing, as dof?h behove, 
Hymns in praise of what I love ! 
