THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
WILD FLOWERS. 
BY SHELLY. 
f bream’d that, as I wander’d by the way, 
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, 
And gentle odours led my steps astray, 
.Mix d with a sound ol waters murmuring 
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
Under a copse, and hardly dared to Uino- 
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
But kiss d it and then fled, as thou mightest in 
a dream. 
fl here grew pied wind-flowers and violets, 
Daisies, those pearl’d Arcturi of the earth, 
I he constellated flower that never sets; 
I aint oxlips; tender blue-bells, at whose biith 
1 he sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that 
wets 
Its mother’s face with heaven-collected tears 
W hen the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears. 
And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 
Oreen cowbmd and the moonlight-colour’d 
May, 
And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
Was the bright dew yet drain’d not by the day: 
Anti wild roses, and ivy serpentine, 
