68 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
And the herb that keepeth life in man 
Might yet have drunk them all. 
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, 
All dyed with rainbow light, 
All fashioned with supremest grace, 
Upspringing day and night,— 
Springing in valleys green and low, 
And on the mountains high, 
And in the silent wilderness, 
Where no man passes by ? 
Our outward life requires them not— 
Then wherefore had they birth ? 
To minister delight to man, 
To beautify the earth; 
To comfort man, to whisper hope, 
Whene’er his faith is dim,— 
For who so careth for the flowers 
Will much more care for him. 
MARY HO WITT. 
