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The orange Cowslip, pure in heart, and gay, Bestows its beauty on our fair bouquet, Known by its sweetness, for its worth approv'd, If seen, remember'd, if remember'd lov'd.

And there, "wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower," Meek Mountain Daisy, pride of friendship's bower, Come all unconscious of thy winning grace, And lend thy lusture to our charmed vase. Wilt thou, bright Pink, all graceful as thou art, Still 'mid our circle form a cherish'd part? Or wouldst thou rather, in thy native glade, Reserve thine incense for the healer's aid?

From beauty's sheltered sphere roam onward wide, Invoking forms of loftier strength and pride, That while the house-plants round the hearth shall glow, As future years the varied lot bestow, Perchance strong conflict with the storm may wage, Or tower, the master spirits of the age.