68 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Beautiful flowers ! to me ye fresher seem 
From the Almighty hand that fashioned all, 
Than those that flourish by a garden-wall; 
And I can image you, as in a dream, 
Fair modest maidens, nursed in hamlets small, 
I love ye all 1 
Beautiful gems ! that on the brow of earth 
Are fixed, as in a queenly diadem ; 
Though lowly ye, and most without a name. 
Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth. 
As light erewhile into the world came,— 
< I love ye all! 
Beautiful things ye are, where’er ye grow! 
The wild red rose, the speedwell’s peepings eyes, 
Our own bluebell—the daisy, that doth rise 
Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow ; 
And thousands more of blessed forms and dyes, 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful nurslings of the early dew ! 
Fanned, in your loveliness, by every breeze. 
And shaded o’er by green and arching trees; 
I often wish that I were one of you. 
Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas,— 
I love ye all I 
Beautiful watchers! day and night ye wake ! 
The Evening Star grows dim and fades away, 
The Morning comes and goes, and then the day 
