Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/114

106 He spake of plants divine and strange

That ev'ry day their blossoms change,

Ten thousand lovely hues!

With budding, fading, faded flowers

They stand the wonder of the bowers

From morn to evening dews.

He told of the Magnolia, spread

High as a cloud, high over head!

The Cypress and her spire,

Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam

Cover a hundred leagues and seem

To set the hills on fire.