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The unbounded might of prayer; and learned, with soul

Fixed on the Cross, that consolation springs,

From sources deeper far than deepest pain, For the meek sufferer. Why then should we read

940 The forms of things with an unworthy eye? She sleeps in the calm earth, and peace is here.

I well remember that those very plumes, Those weeds, and the high spear-grass on that wall,

By mist and silent rain-drops silvered o'er, 945 As once I passed, into my heart conveyed So still an image of tranquillity,

So calm and still, and looked so beautiful Amid the uneasy thoughts which filled my mind,

That what we feel of sorrow and despair 950 From ruin and from change, and all the grief

That passing shows of being leave behind, Appeared an idle dream, that could main

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Together visited.

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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory; 5 Long as there are violets,

They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far 10 For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
15 Little Flower-I'll make a stir,
Like a sage astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an Elf
Bold, and lavish of thyself;

Since we needs must first have met 20 I have seen thee, high and low, Thirty years or more, and yet 'Twas a face I did not know; Thou hast now, go where I may, Fifty greetings in a day.

25 Ere a leaf is on a bush,

In the time before the thrush Has a thought about her nest, Thou wilt come with half a call, Spreading out thy glossy breast 30 Like a careless Prodigal;

Telling tales about the sun,

When we've little warmth, or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood!
Travel with the multitude:

35 Never heed them; I aver

That they all are wanton wooers; But the thrifty cottager, Who stirs little out of doors, Joys to spy thee near her home; 40 Spring is coming, thou art come!

Comfort have thou of thy merit, Kindly, unassuming Spirit! Careless of thy neighborhood, Thou dost show thy pleasant face 45 On the moor, and in the wood, In the lane; there's not a place, Howsoever mean it be,

But 'tis good enough for thee.

Ill befall the yellow flowers,
50 Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien;
They have done as worldlings do,
55 Taken praise that should be thine,
Little, humble Celandine.

Prophet of delight and mirth,
Ill-requited upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
60 Of a joyous train ensuing,
Serving at my heart's command,
Tasks that are no tasks renewing,
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!

.TO THE SAME FLOWER
1802
1807

Pleasures newly found are sweet
When they lie about our feet:
February last, my heart

First at sight of thee was glad; 5 All unheard of as thou art,

Thou must needs, I think, have had,
Celandine! and long ago,
Praise of which I nothing know.

I have not a doubt but he,
10 Whosoe'er the man might be,
Who the first with pointed rays
(Workman worthy to be sainted)
Set the sign-board in a blaze,
When the rising sun he painted,
15 Took the fancy from a glance
At thy glittering countenance.

20

Soon as gentle breezes bring
News of winter's vanishing,

And the children build their bowers,
Sticking 'kerchief-plots1 of mould
All about with full-blown flowers,
Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold!
With the proudest thou art there,
Mantling in the tiny square.

25 Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure,
Sighed to think I read a book
Only read, perhaps, by me;
Yet I long could overlook
Thy bright coronet and thee,
And thy arch and wily ways,
And thy store of other praise.

30

Blithe of heart, from week to week Thou dost play at hide-and-seek; 35 While the patient primrose sits

1 Plots of the size of a handkerchief.

Like a beggar in the cold,
Thou, a flower of wiser wits,
Slip'st into thy sheltering hold;
Liveliest of the vernal train
40 When ye all are out again.

Drawn by what peculiar spell,
By what charm of sight or smell,
Does the dim-eyed curious bee,
Laboring for her waxen cells,
45 Fondly settle upon thee
Prized above all buds and bells
Opening daily at thy side,
By the season multiplied?

Thou art not beyond the moon,
50 But a thing "beneath our shoon:""
Let the bold discoverer thrid
In his bark the polar sea;
Rear who will a pyramid;
Praise it is enough for me,

55 If there be but three or four Who will love my little Flower.

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Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and tem-
ples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless
air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep 10 In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

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