69 
roUXUY OF FLOWERS. 
Within the arras of Night its rest doth take ; 
But ye are wakeful wheresoe’er we stray.— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful objects of the wild bee’s love ! 
The wild-bird joys your opening bloom to see, 
And in your native woods and wilds to be ; 
All hearts, to Nature true, ye strangely move ; 
Ye are so passing fair—so passing free,— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful children of the glen and dell— 
The dingle deep—the moorland stretching wide, 
And of the mossy fountain’s sedgy side ! 
Ye o’er my heart have thrown a lovesome spell; 
And, though the Wordling, scorning, may 
deride,— 
I love ye all! 
SONG TO DIAPHENIA. 
Diafhen’s like the daffy-down-dilly, 
White as the sun, fair as the lily. 
Heigh-ho ! how I do love thee! 
I do love thee as ray Iambs 
Are beloved of their dams ; 
How blest were I if thou would’st provo mo! 
