THE MINISTRY OF FLOWERS.
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THE MINISTRY OF FLOWERS.
Flowers! Flowers! the poetry of earth,
Impulsive, pure, and wild;
With what a strange delight they fill
The wandering, mirthful child;
It clasps their leaflets close a while,
Then strews them wide around;
For life hath many a joy to spare
Along its opening bound.
The maiden twines them in her hair,
And, 'mid that shining braid,
How fair the violet's eye of blue,
And the faint rose-bud's shade,
Upon her polish'd neck they blush,
In her soft hand they shine,
And better crown those peerless charms
Than all Golconda's mine.
