A FLOWER IN A LETTER.

I.

My lonely chamber next the sea,
Is full of many flowers set free

By summer's earliest duty:
Dear friends upon the garden-walk
Might stop amid their fondest talk
To pull the least in beauty.

II.

A thousand flowers, each seeming one
That learnt by gazing on the sun
To counterfeit his shining;

Within whose leaves the holy dew
That falls from heaven has won anew

A glory, in declining.

III.

Red roses, used to praises long,
Contented with the poet's song,

The nightingale's being over;
And lilies white, prepared to touch
The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
Of dreamer turned to lover.

IV.

Deep violets, you liken to

The kindest eyes that look on you,
Without a thought disloyal;

And cactuses, a queen might don
If weary of a golden crown,

And still appear as royal.

V.

Pansies for ladies all,-I wis

That none who wear such brooches, miss

A jewel in the mirror;

And tulips, children love to stretch

Their fingers down, to feel in each

Its beauty's secret nearer.

VI.

Love's language may be talked with these; To work out choicest sentences,

No blossoms can be meeter;

And, such being used in Eastern bowers, Young maids may wonder if the flowers Or meanings be the sweeter.

VII.

And such being strewn before a bride,

Her little foot may turn aside,

Their longer bloom decreeing,

Unless some voice's whispered sound

Should make her gaze upon

Too earnestly for seeing.

the ground

VIII.

And such being scattered on a grave,
Whoever mourneth there may have
A type which seemeth worthy
Of that fair body hid below,
Which bloomed on earth a time ago
Then perished as the earthy.

IX.

And such being wreathed for worldly feast,
Across the brimming cup some guest
Their rainbow colours viewing
May feel them, with a silent start,
The covenant, his childish heart

With nature made, renewing.

X.

No flowers our gardened England hath
To match with these, in bloom and breath,

Which from the world are hiding

In sunny Devon moist with rills,-
A nunnery of cloistered hills,

The elements presiding.

XI.

By Loddon's stream the flowers are fair
That meet one gifted lady's care

With prodigal rewarding,
(For Beauty is too used to run

To Mitford's bower-to want the sun

To light her through the garden).

XII.

But here, all summers are comprised,
The nightly frosts shrink exorcised
Before the priestly moonshine;
And every wind with stolëd feet,
In wandering down the alleys sweet,
Steps lightly on the sunshine,

XIII.

And (having promised Harpocrate
Among the nodding roses that

No harm shall touch his daughters)
Gives quite away the rushing sound
He dares not use upon such ground,
To ever-trickling waters.

XIV.

Yet, sun and wind! what can ye do
But make the leaves more brightly show
In posies newly gathered?

I look away from all your best,

To one poor

flower unlike the rest,

A little flower half-withered.

XV.

I do not think it ever was

A pretty flower,-to make the grass
Look greener where it reddened;
And now it seems ashamed to be
Alone, in all this company,

VOL. III.

Of aspect shrunk and saddened.

XVI.

A chamber-window was the spot
It grew in, from a garden-pot,
Among the city shadows:

If any, tending it, might seem
To smile, 'twas only in a dream
Of nature in the meadows.

XVII.

How coldly on its head did fall
The sunshine, from the city wall
In pale refraction driven!
How sadly plashed upon its leaves
The raindrops, losing in the eaves
The first sweet news of heaven!

XVIII.

And those who planted, gathered it
In gamesome or in loving fit,

And sent it as a token

Of what their city pleasures be,

For one, in Devon by the sea
And garden-blooms, to look on.

XIX.

But SHE for whom the jest was meant, With a grave passion innocent

Receiving what was given,— Oh, if her face she turned then, Let none say 'twas to gaze again Upon the flowers of Devon!