TI1E LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, 
r«4 
Joys to spy thee near her home : 
Spring is coming ; thou art come 
Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
Kindly unassuming spirit! 
Careless of thy neighbourhood, 
Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
On the moor, and in the wood, 
In the lane; there’s not a place 
Howsoever mean it be, 
But ’tis good enough for thee. 
Ill befall the yellow flowers, 
Children of the flaring hours ! 
Buttercups that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no ; 
Others, too, of lofty mien, 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine. 
Little, humble Celandine. 
Prophet of delight and mirth, 
Ill reputed upon earth; 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing, 
Serving at my heart’s command, 
Tasks that are no tasks renewing, 
I will sing, as doth behove, 
Hymns in praise of what I love 1 
