DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 59 
THE HAREBELL, 
CAROLINE SYMONDS. 
In spring’s green lap there blooms a flower 
Whose cup imbibes each vernal shower, 
That sips fresh nature’s balmy dew, 
Clad in her sweetest, purest blue; 
Yet shines the ruddy eye of morning, 
The shaggy woods brown shade adorning. 
Simplest flowret! Child of May! 
Though hid from the broad eye of day, 
Doomed in the shade thy sweets to shed, 
Unnoticed droop thy languid head: 
Still nature’s darling thou ’It remain; 
She feeds thee with her softest rain; 
Fills each sweet bud with honeyed tears, 
With genial gales thy bosom cheers. 
0, then unfold thy simple charms, 
In yon deep thicket’s sheltering arms, 
Far from the fierce and sultry glare, 
No heedless hand shall harm thee there; 
Still, then, avoid the gaudy scene, 
The flaunting sun, the embroidered green, 
And bloom and fade with chaste reserve, unseen. 
