THE BRAMBLE-FLOWER. 
Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows, 
Wild bramble of the brake ! 
So put thou forth thy small white rose, 
I love it for his sake. 
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow 
O'er all the fragrant bowers, 
Thou needest not be ashamed to show 
Thy satin-threaded flowers ; 
For dull the eye, the heart as dull, 
That cannot feel how fair, 
Amid all beauty, beautiful 
Thy tender blossoms are ! 
How delicate thy gauzy frill! 
How rich thy branchy stem ! 
How soft thy voice when woods are still, 
And thou sing’st hymns to them. 
While silent showers are falling slow, 
And, ’mid the general hush, 
A sweet air lifts the little bough, 
Love whispering through the bush ! 
