244 SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. 
Too much gladness brings to gloom 
Those who on the gods presume. 
CHORUS. 
We are the sweet flowers, 
Born of sunny showers, 
(Think, whene’er you see us, what our beauty 
saith;) 
Utterance, mute and bright. 
Of some unknown delight. 
We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple 
breath: 
All who see us love us— 
We befit all places : 
Unto sorrow we give smiles—and unto graces, 
races. 
Mark our ways, how noiseless 
All, and sweetly voiceless. 
Though the March-winds pipe, to make our 
passage clear ; 
Not a whisper tells 
Where our small seed dwells. 
Nor is known the moment green, when our tips 
appear. 
