
POBTRY OF 



FLOWERS, 

And still let man his fabrics rear, 
August in beauty, stern in power, 
Days past—thou Ivy never sere! 
And thou shalt have thy dower. 
All are thine, or must be thine } h 
Temple, pillar, shrine § 4 


















THE COWSLIP. 
Now, in my walk, with sweet surprise, | 
I see the first spring cowslip rise, 
The plant whose pensile flowers | 
| i Bend to the earth their beauteous eyes, 
In sunshine as in showers. | 
Low on a mossy bank it grew, 
Where lichens purple, red and blue, 
Among the verdure crept; 
Its yellow ringlets dropping dew, 
The breezes lightly swept. 
Vai A bee had nestled on its bloom, 
ai He shook abroad their rich perfume, 
Then fied in airy rings; ‘ 
His place a butterfly assumes, 
Glancing his glorious wings, 
SS 

