POETE.Y OF FLOWERS. 
187 
WILD FLOWERS. 
’Tis fair to see our cultured buds their shining 
tints unfold, 
In leaves that wear the sapphire’s hue, or mock 
the sunset’s gold ; 
The lily’s grace, the rose’s blush, have drawn the 
admiring gaze, 
And won from many a minstrel harp the meed of 
song and praise ; 
Oh ! they are meet for festal hall, or beauty’s 
courtly bowers, 
Far those I love the wreath shall be, of wild and 
woodland flowers I 
Bright clustering in the forest shades, or spring¬ 
ing from the sod, 
As flung from Eden, forth they come, fz’esh from 
the hand of God ! 
No human care hath nurtured them ; the wild 
* 
wind passed by; 
They flourish in the sunshine gleam and tempest- 
clouded sky; 
And oh ! like every gift that He, the bountiful 
hath given, 
Their treasures fall, alike to all, type of his pro¬ 
mised heaven 1 
