;o 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE MARYGOLD. 
BY G. WITHERS. 
When with a serious musing, I behold 
The grateful and obsequious Marygold, 
How duly, every morning, she displays 
Her open breast w r hen Phoebus spreads his rays; 
How she observes him in his daily walk, 
Still bending tow’rds him her small slender stalk; 
How, when he down declines, she droops and 
mourns, 
JBedew’d as ’twere with tears, till he returns; 
And how she veils her flowers when he is gone, 
As if she scorned to be look’d upon 
By an inferior eye ; or did contemn 
To wait upon a meaner light than him: 
When this I meditate, methinks the flowers 
Have spirits far more generous than ours, 
And give us fair examples to despise 
The servile fawnings and idolatries 
Wherewith we court these earthly things below 
Which merit not the service we bestow, 
But O, my God! though grovelling I appear 
Upon the ground, and have a rooting here 
Which hales me downward, yet in my desire 
To that which is above me I aspire, 
And all my best affections I profess 
To Him that is the Sun of Righteousness. 
