A flush of youth and joy, free nature's joy,
Undimmed by human change. How kindly here,
With the low thyme and daisies they have blent!
And, under arches of wild eglantine,
Drooping from this tall elm, how strangely seems
The frail gumcistus o'er the turf to snow
Its pearly flower-leaves down!—Go, happy boy!
Rove thou at will amidst these roving sweets,
Whilst I, beside this fallen dial-stone,
Under the tall moss rose-tree, long unpruned,
Rest where thick clustering pansies weave around
Their many tinged mosaic, midst dark grass,
Bedded like jewels.
He hath bounded on,
Wild with delight!—the crimson on his cheek
Purer and richer e'en than that which lies
In this deep-hearted rose-cup!—Bright moss rose!
Though now so lorn, yet surely, gracious tree!
Once thou wert cherished! and, by human love,
Through many a summer duly visited
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THE DAY OF FLOWERS.
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