Floral Poetry. 
“ Three larks shall leave a cloud 
To my whiter beauty vowed, 
Singing gladly all the moontide, 
Never waiting for the suntide.” 
So praying did she win 
South winds to let her in, 
In her loneness, in her loneness, 
And the fairer for that oneness. 
But out, alas ! for her, 
No thing did minister 
To her praises, to her praises, 
More than might unto a Daisy’s. 
No tree nor bush was seen 
To boast a perfect green, 
Scarcely having, scarcely having 
One leaf broad enow for waving. 
The little flies did crawl 
Along the southern wall, 
Faintly shifting, faintly shifting, 
Wings scarce strong enow for lifting. 
The nightingale did please 
To loiter beyond seas, 
Guess him in the happy islands, 
Hearing music from the silence. 
The lark too high or low, 
Did haply miss her so— 
With his crest down in the gorses, 
And his song in the star-courses ! 
Only the bee, forsooth, 
Came in the place of both— 
Doing honour, doing honour, 
To the honey-dews upon her. 
--- 
The skies looked coldly down, 
As on a royal crown ; 
Then, drop by drop, at leisure, 
Began to rain for pleasure. 
Whereat the earth did seem 
To waken from a dream—- 
Winter frozen, Winter frozen, 
Her anguish eyes unclosing, 
Said to the Rose, “ Ha, Snow! 
And art thou fallen so ? 
Thou who wert enthroned stately 
Along my mountains lately. 
“ Hullo, thou world-wide snow ! 
And art thou wasted so ? 
With a little bough to catch thee, 
And a little bee to watch thee?” 
Poor Rose, to be misknown ! 
Would she had ne’er been blown, 
In her loneness, in her loneness, 
All the sadder for that oneness. 
Some words she tried to say, 
Some sigh—ah, well away ! 
But the passion did o’ercome her, 
And the fair frail leaves dropped from her. 
Dropped from her, fair and mute, 
Close to a poet’s foot, 
Who beheld them, smiling lowly, 
As at something sad yet holy : 
Said, “ Verily and thus, 
So chanceth e’er with us, 
Poets, ringing sweetest snatches, 
While deaf men did keep the watches. 
