


THE PUETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Ere a leaf is on a bush, | 7 
In the time before the thrush | 
Has a thought about her nest, i 
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 nona 
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, | ae 
Howsoever mean it be, | 
But ’tis good enough for thee. 

| Ill befall the yellow flowers, 
Children of the flaring hours! 
Butter-cups that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no; 
Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine, iI 
Little, humble Celandine! || 

Prophet of delight and mirth \| 
Ill requited upon earth; 
Herald of a mighty band, | Pra 
Of a joyous train ensuing, 
























