FABLES OF FLORA. 129 
FABLE XXXVII. 
The Aloe and the Poppy. 
A hundred years the Aloe grew— 
A million flowers meantime had bloomed, 
And, cherished by the summer dew, 
The summer’s sultry air perfumed. 
But from the Aloe’s mantled breast, 
No bud or blossom yet appeared— 
Till, century-old, its tall green crest 
In perfect elegance it reared. 
‘ A hundred years! ’ a Poppy cried, 
And proudly tossed its scarlet head — 
‘ Why I, in beauty at thy side, 
Each clay a dozen blossoms shed. 
‘ Yet no admirer turns to gaze 
With rapture on my brilliant form; 
Though thousands, with their foolish praise, 
Around the haughty Aloe swarm! ’ 
I heard the murmurings of the flower, 
And softly to myself I said, 
1 How many a poet of an hour 
Like this gay Poppy rears his head! 
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