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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 
Tliat 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. 
Shelley, in the exquisite description of flowers in his Poem 
of the “ Sensitive Plant,” calls 
Narcissi, the fairest among them all. 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream’s recess. 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness. 
The scent of the Narcissus, too, is extremely fragrant, and 
when adorning our windows in wintry weather, how delight¬ 
fully does the perfumed air of the snug, fire-enlivened study 
seem to whisper, or at least 6rea^/te, of Summer’s sweet children 
and meiTy blue sky! Yes, the Narcissus is sweet, but it yields 
the palm of fragi’ance to its modest neighbour in the wreath. 
Who does not know that 
Violets, dim. 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes, 
Or Cytherea’s breath, 
have their humble dwelling-places in our English lanes ? 
Who has not seen them on many a simny bank, in early 
