Floral Poetry. 
2 35 
So they who climb to wealth forget 
The friends in darker fortunes tried; 
I copied them — but I regret 
That I should ape the ways of pride. 
And when again the genial hour 
Awakes the painted tribes of light, 
I’ll not o’erlook the modest flower 
That made the woods of April bright. 
Bryant. 
THE VIOLET. 
S WEETEST little purple flower! 
Found most oft by lonely tower, 
Or in the woodland, or the vale, 
Sending forth thy odorous gale. 
Thy lovely form, of deepened hue, 
Is bathed in morn and evening dew : 
And in return for Nature’s store, 
Thy balmy fragrance thou dost pour. 
Thou liv’st unseen and quite retired, 
By all thy kindred unadmired, 
Save the pale Primrose, who like thee, 
Lies hidden in obscurity. 
So virtue shuns the vulgar gaze, 
Nor courts the empty breath of praise ; 
But in the solitary glade 
Shines forth, in Beauty’s self arrayed. 
Emma Prior. 
