CELANDINE. 
129 
Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
Kindly, unassuming spirit! 
Careless of thy neighbourhood, 
Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
On the moor, and in the wood, 
In the lane — there’s not a place, 
Howsoever mean it be, 
But ’t is good enough for thee. 
Ill befall the yellow flowers, 
Children of the flaring hours! 
Buttercups, that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no; 
Others, too, of lofty mien: 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine, 
Little, humble Celandine! 
Prophet of delight and mirth 
Scorn’d and slighted upon earth! 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing, 
Singing at my heart’s command, 
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, 
I will sing, as doth behove, 
Hymns in praise of what I love! 
12* 
