170 WILD FLOWERS. 
The primrose and the violet, the cowslip and 
the daffodil, and all the sweet dwellers in the 
green lanes, and the shady woods, and the 
sunny meadows, have ever been the especial 
favorites, not only of those, who being denied 
access to the conservatory and the parterre, are 
not brought into contact with the more richly 
tinted and gorgeous productions of foreign 
climes, but also of the whole race of poets, 
many of whom are surrounded with these 
splendid exotics, in their dwellings, and every 
day walks ; and most, or all of whom, enjoy 
frequent opportunities of observing and ad¬ 
miring them; and yet for poems in praise of 
the geranium and the cactus, we might search 
in vain ; while for those which celebrate the 
wildings of nature,” have we not enough to 
fill volumes ? Aye ! volumes fraught with 
beauty and fragrance, of which this is but a 
foretaste and a specimen. 
Not only with vine leaves and ears of corn 
Is nature dress’d, but ’neath the feet of man, 
As at a sovereign’s feet, she scatters flowers, 
And sweet and useless plants, which, horn to please, 
Disdain to serve.”— Madame de Stael. 
