






THE POETRY OF FLOW 13 

Or music—’ tis no feeble note 
gy 
7 
wohe 
Ten the d 1elo¢ 
In one full chorus sv yell the 1 
Oh, art is but a sanity i 
That genial seasons sci j 
But nature needs no ate's s return 
To fill afresh Ler flowin 
She gathers all her rich sles 
Where never-failing waters rise.”’ 

0 
ee 
TO THE ROUND-LEAFED SUNDEW, 
By the lone fountain’s secret bed, 
Where human footsteps rarely tread, 
?Mid the wild moor of aes glen, 
The Sundew blooms unseen by men; 
Spree oe there her leaf. of rosy hue, 
A chalice for the morning dew, 
ere the summer’s sun can rise, 


’ 
e pure waters of the skies. 




Wot ; thou that thy lot were given, 
Thus to receive the dews of heaven, 
1 heart prepared, like this meek flowas & 
dawnin o hours 
te 

s 
~ 

