






















SHE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 

Vehold 
See (and scorn all duller 
Taste) how heav’n loves colour ; By 
| How great Nature, clearly, joys in red and Ha 
| green ;— bie it gi 
| What sweet thoughts she thinks 
Of violets and pinks, 
And a thousand flushing hues, made solely to be If 
| seen: Tk 
| See her whitest lilies Tata 
Chill the silver showers, i 
And what a red mouth is her rage, the woman of i 
her flowers. Whites 
_ Th 
Uselessness divinest, Tk 
Of a use the finest, tnd fat 
Painteth us, the teachers of the end of use; 
Travellers, weary eyed, 
Bless us, far and wide; & 
Unto sick and prison’d thoughts we give sudden W 
truce: ie 
: nnd 
Not a poor town window 7 
Loves its sickliest planting, \ 
i But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylon‘an Mi 
Hi vaunting, | 
T 
Sagest yet the uses, i 
| Mix’d with our sweet juices, lithe 
i Whetaer man or May-fly, profit of tae balm, 
As fair fingers heal’d 
Knights from the olden field 
