POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
93 
Sheltered by Nature’s graceful hand, 
In briery glens, o’er pasture land 
The fairy tribes we meet, 
Gay in the milk-maid’s path they stand, 
They kiss her tripping feet. 
From winter’s farm-yard bondage freed, 
The cattle bounding o’er the mead, 
Where green the herbage grows, 
Among thy fragrant blossoms feed, 
Upon thy tufts repose. 
Tossing his fore-lock o’er his mane, 
The foal, at rest upon the plain, 
Sports with thy flexile stalk; 
Yet stoops his little neck in vain 
To crop it in his walk. 
Where thick thy primrose blossoms play, 
Lovely and innocent as they, 
O’ef coppice lawns and dells, 
In bands the village children stray, 
To pluck thy honied bells; 
Whose simple sweets with curious skill 
The frugal cottage dames distil, 
Nor envy France the vine : 
While many a festal cup they fill 
Of Britain’s homely wine. 
Perhaps from nature’s earliest May, 
Imperishable ’midst decay, 
