YUE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 193 
Thou livest with less ambitious aim, 
Yet hast not gone without thy flame; {| 
Thou art indeed, by many a claim, 
The poet’s darling. 
| If to a rock from rains we fly, || 
Or, some bright day of April sky, || 
Imprison’d by hot sunshine lie | 
Near the green holly, {| 
And wearily at length should fare ; \| 
He needs but look about, and there 
| Thou art!—a friend at hand, to scare i 
His melancholy. 

A hundred times, by rock or bower, 
Ere thus I have lain couch’d an hour, 
Have I derived from thy sweet power || 
Some apprehension ; || 
Some steady love; some brief delight ; 
Some memory that had taken flight ; {| 
Some chime or fancy wrong or right ; | 
Or strong invention. 
If stately passions in me burn, , || 
And one chance look to thee should turn | 
I drink out of an humble urn 
A lowlier pleasure ; 
‘he homely sympathy that heeds 
| The common life, our nature breeds; 
4 wisdoin fitted to the needs | 
Of hearts at leisure. || 

