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The Poetry of Flowers. 
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TO THE SMALL CELANDINE. 
WORDSWORTH. 
PANSIES, Lilies, King-cups, Daisies, 
Let them live upon their praises ; 
Long as there's a sun that sets, 
Primroses will have their glory ; 
Long as there are Violets, 
They will have a place in story ; 
There’s a flower that shall be mine, 
Tis the little Celandine. 
Ere a leaf is on the bush, 
In the time before the thrush 
Has a thought about her nest, 
Thou wilt come with half a call, 
Spreading out thy glossy breast 
Like a careless prodigal ; 
Telling tales about the sun, 
When we've little warmth, or none, 
Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
Kindly unassuming spirit | 
Careless of thy neighbourhood, 
Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
On the moor, and in the wood, 
In the lane—there’s not a place, 
Howsoever mean it be, 
But ’tis good enough for thee. 
Ill befall the yellow flowers, 
Children of the flaring hours ! 
Buttercups that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no ; 
Others, too, of lofty mien, 
They have done as worldlings do, 

