THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE MARYGOLD. 
BY G. WITHERS, 
WueEn with a serious musing, I behold 
The grateful and obsequious Marygold, 
How duly, every morning, she displays 
Her open breast when Phoebus spreads his rays: 
How she observes him in his daily walk, 
Still bending tow’rds him her small slender stalk ; 
How, when he down declines, she droops and 
mourns, 
Bedew’d as ’twere with tears, till he returns; 
And how she veils her flowers when he is gone, 
As if she scorned to be look’d upon 
By an inferior eye; or did contemn 
To wait upon a meaner light than him: 
When this I meditate, methinks the flowers 
ave spirits far more genero.1s than ours, 
And give us fair examples to despise 
The servile fawnings and idolatries 
W herewith we court these earthly things below 
Which merit not the service we bestow, 
But O, my God! though grovelling I appear 
Upon the ground, and have a rooting here 
Which hales me downward, yel in my desire 
To that which is above me I aspire, 
And all my best affections [ profess 
To Him that is the San of Righteousness. 



























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