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'A little purple flower, And maidens call it Love in Idleness.'Shakspeare.

name is on the haunted flower, Linked with those dreams that came In Inspiration’s lovely hour, Whose memory is Fame. He saw that flower when he was young, Alike in life and heart, And round it those sweet fancies flung That never more depart.

A thousand blossoms bloom and die Upon their mother Earth, Unnoticed in their transient sigh, Forgotten in their birth; But when the Poet’s heart has cast Its own deep beauty there, The shadow of the charmed Past Makes every leaf more fair.