26 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Tended the garden from morn to even ; 
And the meteors of that sublunar heaven, 
Like the lamps of the air when night walks forth, 
Laugh’d round her footsteps up from the earth! 
She had no companion of mortal race, 
But her tremulous breath and her flushing face, 
Told, whilst the morn kiss’d the sleep from her 
eyes, 
That her dreams were less slumber than paradise, 
As if some bright spirit for her sweet sake 
Had deserted heaven while the stars were awake, 
As if yet around her he lingering were, 
Though the veil of daylight conceal’d him from 
her. 
Her step seem’d to pity the grass it prest; 
You might hear, by the heaving of her breast, 
That the coming and the going of the wind 
Brought pleasure there, and left passion behind. 
And wherever her airy footstep trod, 
Her trailing hair from the grassy sod 
Erased its light vestige, with shadowy sweep, 
Like a sunny storm o’er the dark green deep. 
I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet 
Rejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet; 
