THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
219 
THE SCARLET GERANIUM. 
I will not sing the mossy rose, 
The jasmine sweet, or lily fair, 
The tints the rich carnation shows, 
The stock’s sweet scent that fills the air. 
Full many a bard has sung their praise 
In metres smooth, and polished line; 
A simple flower and humbler lays 
May best befit a pen like mine. 
There is a small but lovely flower. 
With crimson star and calyx brown, 
On pathway side, beneath the bower, 
By Nature’s hand profusely strown. 
Inquire you when this floweret, springs ?—• 
When Nature wakes to mirth and love, 
When all her fragrance summer flings, 
When latest autumn chills the grove. 
Like the sweet bird whose name it bears, 
’Midst falling leaves and fading flowers. 
The passing traveller it cheers, 
In shorten’d days and darksome hour*. 
