POETRY OF FLOWERS. 167 
Surely thou’rt nature’s favour’d flower ! 
She form’d thy peerless virgin ray, 
Then bade thee grace young spring’s new power, 
And, with him, hail the God of day. 
The glowing god beheld thee fair 
As brightly glancing from the sky, 
And pleased at Nature’s friendly care, 
He said, “‘ Henceforth be call’d mine eye.” 
Now each returning season brings 
Thy little silvery form to light, 
When Nature’s fairy finger flings 
Her gifts, all teeming with delight} 
Why valued less, because not rare 
Thy beauty meets the common eye? 
The day’s blest orb on each his share 
Of warmth bestows, on low or high ! 
Thy modest mien, thy lowly sphere, 
Shall to my footsteps sacred be ; 
And as I view that orb so dear, 
Sweet flower ! Pll still remember thee. 









