

THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
Till from the garden and the wild 
A fresh association blow, 
And year by year the landscape grow 
Familiar to the stranger’s child. 
As year by year the laborer tills 
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades; 
And year by year our memory fades 
From all the circle -of the hills. 
The Sensitive Plant. 
Percy B. Shelley. 
SENSITIVE Plant in a garden grew, 
And the young winds fed it with silver dew, 
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
And closed them beneath the kisses of night. 
And the Spring arose on the garden fair, 
Like the Spirit of Love felt every where ; 
And each flower and herb on earth’s dark breast 
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest. 
But none ever trembled and panted with bliss, 
In the garden, the field, or the wilderness, 
Like a doe in the noontide with love’s sweet want, 
As the companionless Sensitive Plant. 




















