300 POETHY OF FLOWERS. 
What is like thee, fair flower, 
The gentle and the firm? thus bearing up 
To the blue sky that alabaster cup, 
As to the shower ? 
Oh! Love is most like thee, 
The love of woman! quivering to the blast, 
Through every nerve, yet rooted deep and fast, 
’*Midst life’s dark sea. 
And Faith—oh! is not Faith 
Like thee, too, Lily ? Springing into light 
Still buoyantly, above the billow’s might, 
Through the storm’s breath ? 

Yes, link’d with such high thoughts, 
Vlower, let thine image in my bosom lie, 
Till something there of ita own purity 
And peace be wrought : 
Something yet more divine 
Than the clear, pearly, virgin lustre shed 
Forth from thy breast, upon the river’s bed, 
As from a shrine. 


