24 
THE POETS’ OF FLOWERS. 
The plumed insects swift and free. 
Like golden boats on a sunny sea, 
Laden with light and odour, which pass 
Over the gleam of the living grass; 
The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie 
Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high, 
Then wander like spirits among the spheres. 
Each cloud faint with the fragrance it bears ; 
The quivering vapours of dim noon-tide, 
Which like a §ea o’er the warm earth glide, 
In which every sound, and odour, and beam. 
Move, as reeds in a single stream; 
Each and all like ministering angels were 
For the sensitive plant sweet joy to bear, 
Whilst the lagging hours of the day went bj' 
Like windless clouds o’er a tender sky. 
And when evening descended from heaven a'jove, 
And the earth was all rest, and the air was all 
love, 
And delight, though less bright, was far more 
deep, 
And the day’s veil fell from the world of sleep; 
And the beasts and the birds, and the insects 
were drown’d 
In an ocean of dreams wi hout a sound; 
