
IN Wing 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
Or, on the dingle’s shadowy steep, 
The gaudy furze beneath, 
Thy modest beauties sweetly peep, 
Thy chaster odours breathe. 
From Juxury we turn aside, 
From wealth and ostentatious pride. 
With many an emblematic thorn, 
Thy humbler mien well pleased to meet : 
Like competence in blest retreat, 
Thy smiles the spring adorn. 
What though thou boast no splendid hue 
Of Flora’s prouder race ? 
To me more fair art thou to view, 
In all thy simple grace : 
Thine innocence-and beauty meek, 
More like my Celestina’s cheek, 
Where all the modest virtues play ; 
kixpression beaming from her eye, 
in cherub smiles of chastity, 
With mild and temper’d ray. 
Yet treasures lurk within thy lips 
lo glad the spoiler bee, 
Who not with idle errand sips, 
Or wanton vagrancy. 
Ah! blest is he who temperance tries, 
Simplicity above discuise. 






















