POETEY OF FLOWERS. 
“The Columbine? full many a flower 
Hath hues more clear and bright, 
Although she doth in purple go, 
In crimson, pink, and white. 
Why, when so many fairer shine, 
Why choose the homely columbine ?” 
Examine well each flowret’s form,— 
Read ye not something more 
Than curl of petal—depth of tint? 
Saw ye ne’er aught before 
That claims a fancied semblance there. 
Amid those modelled leaves so fair ? 
Know ye the cap which Folly wears 
In ancient masques and plays ? 
Does not the columbine recall 
That toy of olden days ? 
And is not Folly reigning now 
O’er many a wisdom-written brow ? 
’Tis Folly’s flower, that lonely one ; 
That universal guest 
Makes every garden but a type 
Of every human breast ; 
For, though ye tend both mind and bower. 
There’s still a nook for Folly’s flower. 
Then gather roses for the bride, 
‘ Twine them in her bright hair. 
