Page:The Romance of Nature; or, The Flower-Seasons Illustrated.djvu/35

 Beautiful, even in its error, seems

The Pagan offering of Flowers as gifts

To the Almighty Power; for what so fair—

So pure, so holy as their fragile forms?

Earth's lovliest offspring, whom the mighty sun

Looks on with smiles—and whom the careful sky

Nourishes with soft rain—and whom the dew

Delights to deck with her enclustered gems,

Which each, reflecting the soft tint it lights,

Gains, while it gives, new beauty.

Oh!—they're fair!

Most wonderful and lovely are they all,—

From our own daisy, "crimson-tipped," that greets

Our English childhood with its lowly look,

To the proud giants of the Western world,

And gorgeous denizens of either Ind,

Towering in Nature's majesty and might,

And lifting up their radiant heads to hail

The sun—their monarch—as he burns above.

Who does not love them? Reader, if thine heart

Be one unblessed by such affection, turn

Far from these lays thy cold and careless eye,

For less than dull to thee the page will seem.

And if e'en glads thee not, then Art,

With Nature for her model, will but tire:

But ye; Creation's readers, oh! be mine,

If ye do love that glorious book, whose leaves,