146 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 
LOVE IN A SNOW-WREATH. 
JIEZEKEON. 
The rose-coloured blossoms of this much-admired plant are 
often found smiling and blushing in the midst of snows in gay 
defiance of winter’s farewell frown. 
One wintry morn an icicle lay, 
Chained, in the sunlight calm and clear, 
To a graceful, delicate, frost-bound spray, 
Like a diamond-drop in Beauty’s ear. 
My eye was caught by a strange, rich gleam, 
That fitfully played in the pendant pure, 
And I thought I saw two bright wings beam 
Through the luminous ice; but I was not sure. 
I stole to the place, and there — behold! 
A fairy child in the icicle’s heart! 
Tossing his tresses of curled gold, 
Shaking his tiny, suntipped dart; — 
Fluttering, striving his form to free, 
Like a rainbow at play in a prison, he turned; 
Laughing and frowning, as anger or glee, 
By turns, in his bosom, smiled or burned. 
I knew by his pinions of changeable light, 
I knew by his quiver and cherub-bloom, 
’T was the lovely and petulant cyprian sprite — 
The boy-god—caught in that living tomh. 
