Floral Poetry. 
& 
Posthumous glories ! angel-like eollection ! 
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 
A second birth. 
43 
Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining, 
Far from all voice of teachers or divines, 
My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordaining, 
Priests, sermons, shrines ! 
Horace Smith. 
THE SHEPHERD TO THE FLOWERS. 
S WEET Violets, Love’s paradise, that spread 
Your gracious odours, which you, couched, bear 
Within your paly faces, 
Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind, 
That plays amidst the plain ! 
If, by the favour of propitious stars, you gain 
Such grace as in my lady’s bosom place to find, 
Be proud to touch those places : 
And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear, 
Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed, 
You, honours of the flowery meads, I pray, 
You pretty daughters of the earth and sun, 
With mild and seemly breathing straight display 
My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone ! 
Sir Walter Raleigh. 
