the POETRY of flowers. g, 
But I love the modest mien, 
Still I love the modest mien 
Of gentle evening fair, and her star-train’d queca 
Didst thou, shepherd, never find 
Pleasure is of pensive kind ? 
Has thy cottage never known 
That she loves to dwell alone ? 
Dost thou not at evening hour 
Feel some soft and secret power 
Gliding o’er thy yielding mind, 
J^eave sweet serenity behind, 
While all disarm’d, the cares of day 
Steal through the falling gloom awav ? 
Love to think thy lot was laid 
In this undistinguish’d shade. 
I ar from the world’s infectious view 
Thy little virtues safely blew. 
Go, and in day’s more dangerous hoar. 
Guard thy emblematic flower.” 
5 
