THE WALL* FLO WER. 93 
By strife or storm decay’d; 
And fillest up each envious rent 
Time’s canker-tooth hath made. 
Whither hath fled the choral band 
That fill’d the abbey’s nave ? 
Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand 
O’er many a level grave ; 
In the belfry’s crevices, the dove 
Her young brood nurseth well, 
Whilst thou, lone flower! dost shed above 
A sweet decaying smell. 
In the season of the tulip cup, 
When blossoms clothe the trees. 
How sweet to throw the lattice up, 
And scent thee on the breeze! 
The butterfly is then abroad, 
The bee is on the wing, 
And on the hawthorn by the road 
The linnets sit and sing. 
Sweet wall-flower—sweet wall-flower ! 
Thou conjurest up to me, 
Full many a soft and sunny hour 
Of boyhood’s thoughtless glee; 
When joy from out the daisies grew 
In woodland pastures green, 
And summer skies were far more blue 
Than since they e’er have been. 
