






















THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
See (and scorn all duller 
Taste) how heav’n loves colour ; 
\- green ;— 
What sweet thoughts she thinks 
Of violets and pinks, 
And a thousand flushing hues, made solely to be 
seen: 
See her whitest lilies 
Chill the silver showers, 
And what a red mouth is her rage, the woman of 
her flowers. 
| Uselessness divinest, 
| Of a use the finest, 
Painteth us, the teachers of the end of use; 
| Travellers, weary eyed, 
Bless us, far and wide; 
Unto sick and prison’d thoughts we give sudden 
| truce : 
| Not a poor town window 
Loves its sickliest planting, 
But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylonian 
| vaunting. 

d with our sweet juices 
= ? 
, profit of tne balm, 
? 
mo yr WV ra | 
man Or iviay-tly 




