12 
THE MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
“ Underfoot, the violet, 
Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay, 
Broider’d the ground ; more colour’d than with stone 
Of costliest emblem.” 
4 liock’d by the chilly blast. 
And ’mid the cold snow peeping, 
Why do ye deck the waste 
When other buds are sleeping ? 
Did ye, as they. 
Awhile delay 
Till softer gales were sighing ? 
Perchance no flower 
In summer bower 
With ye in charms were vying.’ 
4 No fervid beam, ’t is true. 
Lady, our slumber breaketh, 
From our light cups the dew 
No sportive zephyr shaketh ; 
Heralds of spring. 
The wind’s rude wing 
