THE FOETRY OF FLOWERS. 
227 
THE FIELD-FLOWER. 
BY MONTGOMERY. 
There is a flower, a little flower, 
With silver crest and golden eye, 
That welcomes every changing hour, 
And weathers every sky. 
The prouder beauties of the field 
In gay but quick succession shine, 
Race after race their honours yield, 
They flourish and decline. 
But this small flower, to nature dear, 
While moon and stars their courses run. 
Wreathes the whole circle of the year, 
Companion of the sun. 
It smiles upon the lap of May, 
To sultry August spreads its charms, 
Lights pale October on his way, 
And twines December’s arms. 
The purple heath, and golden broom, 
On moory mountains catch the gale 
O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume, 
The violet in the vale; 
