Sunflower. 
323 
The world ; and, vainly favoured, it repays 
The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze 
By no change of its large, calm front of snow. 
And underneath the mount a flower I know, 
He cannot have perceived, that changes ever 
At his approach ; and, in the lost endeavour 
To live his life, has parted, one by one, 
With all a flower’s true graces, for the grace 
Of being but a foolish mimic sun, 
With ray-like florets round a disc-like face. 
Men nobly call by many a name the mount, 
As over many a land of theirs its large 
Calm front of snow, like a triumphal targe, 
Is reared ; and still with old names fresh ones vie. 
Each to its proper praise and own account. 
Men call the flower the sunflower, sportively.” 
21—2 
