WALL-FLOWER. 
117 
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. 
Now Autumn’s pensive voice is heard 
Amid the yellow bowers, 
The robin is the regal bird, 
And thou the Queen of Flowers! 
He sings on the laburnum trees, 
Amid the twilight dim. 
And Araby ne’er gave the breeze 
Such scenes as thou to him. 
Rich is the Pink, the Lily gay, 
The Rose is Summer’s guest; 
Bland are the charms when these decay, 
Of flowers first, last, and best! 
11 * 
