
The Poetry of Flowers. 





































On the mute path of ages fled, 
Still meets decay and thee. 
And still let man his fabrics rear, 
August in beauty, stern in power, — 
Days pass—thou Ivy never sere ! 
And thou shalt have thy dower. 
All are thine, or must be thine [— | 
Temple, pillar, shrine ! S 
_—_ 
DAFFODILS. 
BY WORDSWORTH. 
I WANDERED lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o’er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host of golden Daffodils ; 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
Continuous as the stars that shine | 
And twinkle in the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay: 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
The waves beside them danced’; but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: > 
A poet could not but be gay, 
In such a jocund company ; 
I gazed and gazed, but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought ! 
For oft when on my couch I lie, 
In vacant or in pensive mood, 
