
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 



The rose 
Who both antedz 
In an unprepared 

** Drop leaf—be silent song— 
Cold things we came among! 
We must warm them, we must w 
Ere we even hope to charm eee 
“* Howbeit,’’ here his face 
Highten’d around the place, 
So to mark the outward turning 
Of his spirit’s inward burning 
“ Something it is to hold 
In God’s w es manifold, 
First reveal’d to creatures duty, 
} 
A new form of His mild beauty. 
‘¢ Whether that form respect 
The sense or intellect, 
Holy r2st in soul or plea oe 
The ciaef Beauty’s sign of p 
‘* Floly in me and the 
Rose fallen from ets tree, 
Though the world stand dumb aro 
All unable to expound us 
fund 
A 


