

FLOWERS. 
And the poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 
Of the self-same, universal being 
Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 
Gorgeous flowerets in the sun-light shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 
Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay. 
Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, 
Flaunting gayly, in the golden light ; 
Large desires, with most uncertain issues ; 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 
These in flowers and men are more than seeming, 
Workings are they of the self-same powers, 
Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, 
Seeth in himself, and in the flowers. 
Every where about us they are glowing; 
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 
Others, their blue eyes with tears o’erflowing, 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn. 
Not alone in Spring’s armorial bearing, 
And in Summer’s green-emblazoned field, 
But in arms of brave old Autumn’s wearing, 
In the centre of his brazen shield ; 



