THE I OETRT OF FLOWERS. 
25 
Whose waves never mark- though they evei 
impress 
The light sand which paves it. consciousness; 
Only overhead the sweet nightingale 
Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail, 
And snatches of its Elysian chant 
Were mix’d with the dreams of the sensitive 
plant;) 
The sensitive plant was the earliest 
Up-gathar’d into the bosom of rest; 
A sweet child weary of its delight, 
The feeblest and yet the favourite, 
Cradled within the embrace of night. 
PART II. 
Then was a power in this sweet place, 
An Eve in this Eden; a ruling grace 
Which to the flowers, did they waken or dream, 
Was as God is to the starry scheme : 
\ lady, the wonder of her kind, 
Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind, 
Which, dilating, had moulded her mien and mo¬ 
tion 
ike a sea-flov/er unfolded beneath the ocean. 
