THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
151 
On the soft west wind and his frolic peers ; 
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, 
Chaste snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring, 
And pensive monitor of fleeting years ! 
STRAWBERRY.— Perfect Goodness. 
Wordsworth makes an elder child thus address a 
younger one:— 
That is work of waste and ruin—do as Charles and I 
are doing! 
Strawberry blossoms, one and all, we must spare them 
—here are many; 
Look at it—the flower is small, small and low, though 
fair as any: 
Do not touch it! summers two I am older Anne than 
you. 
God has given a kindlier power to the favoured Straw¬ 
berry flower, 
When the months of Spring are fled, hither let us 
bend our walk; 
Lurking berries ripe and red, then will hang on every 
stalk, 
Each within its leafy bower; and for that promise 
spare that flower! 
The good Bishop Mant, in his “ Wreath of April 
Flowers,” thus speaks of the Strawberry :— 
With milk-white flowers, whence soon shall swell 
Rich fruitage, to the taste and smell 
Pleasant alike, the Strawberry weaves 
Its coronets of three-fold leaves, 
In mazes through the sloping wood. 
