Floral Poetry. 
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Earth’s cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, 
Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, 
Had scathed my existence’s bloom; 
Once I welcome you more, in life’s passionless stage, 
With the visions of youth to revisit my age, 
And I wish you to grow on my tomb. 
Campbell. 
SPRING FLOWERS. 
V) OWING adorers of the gale, 
Ye Cowslips delicately pale, 
Upraise your loaded stems, 
Unfold your cups in splendour; speak! 
Who decked you with that ruddy streak, 
And gilt your golden gems? 
Violets, sweet tenants of the shade, 
In purple’s richest pride arrayed, 
Your errand here fulfil! 
Go, bid the artist’s simple stain 
Your lustre imitate, in vain, 
And match your Maker’s skill. 
Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth, 
Embroid’rers of the carpet earth, 
That stud the velvet sod; 
Open to Spring’s refreshing air, 
In sweetest smiling bloom declare 
Your Maker and my God. 
John Clare. 
