ON PLANTING A TULIP ROOT. 
67 
Yet, rich as morn of many a hue, 
When flushing clouds through darkness strike, 
The Tulip’s petals shine in dew, 
All beautiful—but none alike. 
Kings, on their bridal, might unrobe 
To lay their glories at its foot; 
And Queen’s their sceptre, crown and globe, 
Exchange for blossom, stalk and root. 
Here could I stand and moralize ; 
Lady, I leave that part to thee ; 
Be thv next birth in Paradise, 
Thy life to come eternity ! 
J. M. 
