POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
61 
Beautiful things ye are, where’er ye grow ! 
The wild red rose—the speedwell’s peeping eyes,— 
Our own bluebell—the daisy, that doth rise 
Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow 
And thousands more of blessed forms and dyes,—• 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful nurslings of the early dew! 
Fanned, in your loveliness, by every breeze, 
And shaded o’er by green and arching trees; 
I often wish that I were one of you, 
Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas,—- 
I love ye all ! 
Beautiful watchers ! day and night ye wake! 
The Evening Star grows dim and fades away, 
The Morning comes and goes, and then the day 
Within the arms of night its rest doth take; 
But ye are wakeful wheresoe’er we stray,— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful objects of the wild-bee’s love ! 
The wild-bird joys your opening bloom to see, 
And in your native woods and wilds to be; 
All hearts, to Nature true, ye strangely move ; 
Ye are so passing fair, so passing free,— 
I love ye all! 
Beautiful children of the glen and dell— 
The dingle deep — the moorland stretching wide 
