110 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
COWSLIPS. 
Oh ! fragrant dwellers of the lea, 
When first the wild wood rings 
With each sound of vernal minstrelsy, 
When fresh the green grass springs! 
What can the blessed spring restore 
More gladdening than your charms ? 
Bringing the memory once more 
Of lovely fields and farms! 
Of thickets, breezes, birds, and flowers; 
Of life’s unfolding prime; 
Of thoughts as cloudless as the hours ; 
Of souls without a crime. 
Oh! blessed, blessed do ye seem, 
For, even now, I turned, 
With soul athirst for wood and stream, 
From streets that glared and burned. 
From the hot town, where mortal care 
His crowded fold doth pen; 
Where stagnates the polluted air 
In many a sultry den. 
And are ye here ? and are ye here ? 
Drinking the dew-like wine, 
Midst living gales and waters clear, 
And heaven’s unstinted shine. 
