132 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Then droop and fade ; 
Thy god still shines as warm and bright 
O’er lawn and mead; 
And other flowers shall woo his light 
In sunny hour, 
But none so true from morn till night 
As thou, poor flower ! 
— 
See 
—_ 
TO A WINTER BLOOMING WILD 
FLOWER. 
Lows dweller in the bleak and barren spot, 
That finds no shelter from a leafless tree, 
Though very desolate may be thy lot, 
Almost I wish that I resembled thee. 

Not in thy beauty, flowret azure-hued ! 
Nor in thy faint, wind-wasted fragrancy— 
Nor in the stillness of thy solitude— 
My heart, companionless, would broken be. 

But I, like thee, upspringing from the sod, 
Would lift, through storms, a cheerful eye to 
Heaven, 
Trusting the bounteous hand of Nature’s God 
Sunshine and storm for equal good hath given. 


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