
52 POETRY OF FLOWERS. . 
And the mother gave in tears and pain, 
The flowers she most did love; 
She knew she should find them all again 
In the fields of light above. 
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
The Reaper came that day ; 
’Twas an angel visited the green earth, 
And took the flowers away. 
THE COWSLIP. 
Bowine adorers of the gale, 
Ye cowslips delicately pale, 
Upraise your loaded stems : 
Unfold your cups of splendour, speak ! 
Who deck’d you with that ruddy streak, 
And gilt your golden gems? 
Ye lovely flowers of lowly birth, 
Embroiderers of the carpet earth, 
That stud the velvet sod; 
Open to Spring’s refreshing air, 
In sweetest smiling bloom declare 
Your Maker and your God. 
