86 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
“ Though none us deign to blesa, 
Blessed are we natheless; 
Blessed age and consecrated 
In that, Rose, we were created ! 
“ Oh, shame to poet’s lays, 
Sung for the dole of praise— 
Hoarsely sung upon the highway, 
With an “ obolurn da mild /” 
“ Shame ! shame to poet’s soul 
Pining for such a dole, 
When heaven-called to inherit 
The high throne of his own spirit! 
“ Sit still upon your thrones, 
O ye poetic ones ! 
And if, sooth, the world decry you. 
Why, let that world pass by you! 
“Ye to yourselves suffice, 
Without its flatteries; 
Self-contentedly approve you 
Unto Him who sits above you. 
“ In prayers that upward mount, 
Like to a sunned fount, 
And, in gushing back upon you. 
Bring the music they have won you! 
