




























es 
Mh, 
The Poetry of Flowers. 

‘* Howbeit ’—here his face 
Heightened around the place, 
So to mark the outward turning 
Of his spirit’s inward burning— 
‘*Something it is to hold 
In God’s world’s manifold, 
First revealed to creatures duty, 
A new form of His mild beauty. 
‘« Whether that form respect 
The sense or intellect, 
Holy rest in soul or pleasance, 
The chief beauty’s sign of presence. 
‘* Holy in me and thee, 
Rose fallen from the tree, 
Though the world stand dumb around us, 
All unable to expound us. 
“Though none us design to bless, 
Blessed are we natheless ; 
Blessed age and consecrated ! 
In that, Rose, we were created ! 
‘Oh, shame to poet’s lays, 
Sung for the dole of praise— 
Hoarsely sung upon the highway, 
With an ‘obolum da mthi’!/ 
‘“‘Shame! shame to poet’s soul, 
Pining for such a dole, 
When heaven-called to inherit 
The high.throne of his own spirit ! 
‘Sit still upon your thrones, 
O ye poetic ones ! 
And if, sooth, the world decry you, 
Why, let that world pass by you ! 





