THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
153 
While Miss Taylor tells us that:— 
Down in a green and shady bed, a modest Violet 
grew; 
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, as if to hide from 
view. 
And yet it was a lovely flower, its colour bright and 
fair; 
It might have graced a rosy bower, instead of hiding 
there. 
Yet thus it was content to bloom, in modest tints ar¬ 
rayed ; 
And there diffused a sweet perfume, within the silent 
shade. 
We cannot do better than append the following lines 
addressed to this favourite flower 
Sweet flower ! Spring’s earliest, loveliest gem ! 
While other flowers are idly sleeping, 
Thou rear’st thy purple diadem ; 
Meekly from thy seclusion peeping. 
Thou, from thy little secret mound, 
Where diamond dew-drops shine above thee, 
Scatterest thy modest fragrance round; 
And well may Mature’s Poet love thee ! 
Thine is a short swift reign I know— 
But here thy spirit still pervading, 
IS ew Violet tufts again shall blow, 
Then fade away as thou art fading, 
