THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Ill 
BOWING ADORERS. 
BY CLARE. 
Bowing adorers of the gale, 
Ye Cowslips delicately pale, 
Upraise your loaded stems; 
Unfold your cups in splendour, speak! 
Who deck’d you with that ruddy streak. 
And gilt your golden gems? 
Violets, sweet tenants of the shade, 
In purple’s richest pride array’d, 
Your errand here fulfil; 
Go bid the artist’s simple strain 
Your lustre imitate in vain, 
And match your Maker’s skill. 
Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth. 
Embroiderers of the carpet earth. 
That stud the velvet sod; 
Open to Spring’s refreshing air, 
In sweetest smiling bloom declare 
Your Maker, and my God. 
