38 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
With kindred gladness: 
And when, at dusk, by dews oppressed, 
Thou sinlcest, the image of thy rest 
Hath often eased my pensive breast 
Of careful sadness. 
Child of the year ! that round dost run 
Thy course, bold lover of the sun, 
And cheerful, when the day’s begun, 
As morning leveret, 
* Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain; 
Dear shalt thou be to future men 
As in old timethou, not in vain, 
Art Nature’s favourite. 
Wordsworth. 
THE WREATH. 
I sought the garden’s gay parterre, 
To cull a wreath for Mary’s hair; 
And thought I surely here might find 
Some emblem of her lovely mind, 
Where taste displays the varied bloom 
Of Flora’s beauteous drawing-room. 
An d, first of peerless form and hue, 
The stately Lily caught my view, 
* See, in Chaucer and the elder poets, the honours for¬ 
merly paid to this flower. 
