62 
7 HE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
(As in a truer glass) thou mightst have gazed, 
And seen thy beauties by more kind reflection. 
But self-love never yet could look on truth, 
But with bleared beams; slick flattery and she 
Are twin-born sisters, and do mix their eyes, 
As if you sever one, the other dies. 
Why did the gods give thee a heavenly form 
And earthly thoughts to make thee proud of it ? 
Why do I ask? ’Tis now the known disease 
That beauty hath, to bear too deep a sense 
Of her own self-conceived excellence. 
Oh hadst thou known the worth of Heaven’s rich gift. 
Thou wouldst have turned it to a truer use, 
And not (with starved and covetous ignorance) 
Pined in continual eyeing that bright gem 
The glance whereof to others had been more 
Than to thy famished mind the wide world’s store. 
THE NARCISSUS. 
KEATS. 
W hat first inspired a bard of old to sing 
Narcissus pining o’er the untainted spring? 
In some delicious ramble he had found 
A little space, with boughs all woven round; 
And in the midst of all a clearer pool 
Than ere reflected in its pleasant cool 
The blue sky, here and there serenely peeping, 
Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping. 
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, 
A meek and forlorn flower, with nought of pride, 
Drooping its beauty o’er the watery clearness, 
To woo its own sad image into nearness : 
