Floral Poetry. 
Even human love will shrink from sight 
Here in the coarse, rude earth : 
How then should rash intruding glance 
Break in upon her sacred trance 
Who boasts a heavenly- birth ? 
So still and secret is her growth, 
Ever the truest heart, 
Where deepest strikes her kindly root 
For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, 
Least known its happy part 
God only, and good angels, look 
Behind the blissful screen— 
As when, triumphant o’er His woes, 
The Son of God by moonlight rose, 
By all but heaven unseen : 
As when the Holy Maid beheld 
Her risen Son and Lord : 
Thought has not colours half so fair, 
That she to paint that hour may dare 
In silence best adored. 
The gracious dove, that brought from heaven 
The earnest of our bliss, 
Of many a chosen witness telling, 
Of many a happy vision dwelling, 
Sings not a note of this. 
So, truest image of the Christ, 
Old Israel’s long-lost Son, 
What time, with sweet forgiving cheer, 
He called His conscious brethren near, 
Would weep with them alone. 
