THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
503 
Till from the garden and the wild 
A fresh association blow. 
And year by year the landscape grow 
Familiar to the stranger’s child. 
As year by year the laborer tills 
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades; 
And year by year our memory fades 
From all the circle of the hills. 
W$t j&Mitita fiant. 
Percy B. Shelley. 
A SENSITIVE Plant in a garden grew. 
And the young winds fed it with silver dew, 
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
And closed them beneath the kisses of night 
And the Spring arose on the garden fair, 
Like the Spirit of Love felt every where ; 
And each flower and herb on earth’s dark breast 
Lose from the dreams of its wintry rest. 
But none ever trembled and panted with bliss, 
In the garden, the field, or the wilderness, 
Like a doe in the noontide with love’s sweet want. 
As the companionless Sensitive Plant. 
