THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
WILD FLOWERS. 
BY SHELLY. 
DREAM’D that, as I wander’d by the way, 
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, 
And gentle odours led my steps astray, 
Mix’d with a sound of waters murmuring 
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 
its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
ut \kiss’d it and then fled. as thou mightest im 
a dream. 

et 
a 
There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, 
Daisies, those pearl’d Arcturi of the earth, 
The constellated flower that never sets; 
Faint oxlips; téhder blue-bells, at whose birth 
The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that 
wets 
Its mother’s face with heaven-collected tears, 
When the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears, 
And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 
Green cowbind and ‘the moonlight-colour’d 
May, 
Al _ cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
Was the whe at Sy yet drain’d not by the day; 
And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, 

