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The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 35, Pages 207-208
TO THE BLUE ANEMONE.
"And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes."—Wordsworth.
Flower of starry clearness bright!
Quivering urn of coloured light!
Hast thou drawn thy cup's rich dye
From th' intenseness of the sky?
From a long, long fervent gaze,
Through the year's first golden days,
Up that blue and silent deep
Where, like things of sculptured sleep,
