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All o'er the hedge—as if some wealthy nymph
From Neptune's ocean-palace had flung forth
A shower of coral—gleam the polished hyps,
In many a smiling cluster, and we read
An ever-welcome message in their smile:—
It tells us that where they on naked stems,
Leafless and winter-worn, do greet us now,
Summer again will spread her lavish bloom,
And, 'neath the blue sky, bid the roses blush.
Near these, in dark, rich crimson all yclad,
With a soft velvet bloom upon their cheek,
The Hawthorn's winter progeny are seen,
In groups of fruit, which, flavourless to us,
Is a kind harvest to the hungry birds,
And small field mice, who other sustenance
In wintry weather may full seldom find.
So, every thing in Nature hath some end
Of good and useful to achieve—though we
In our small knowledge of her mystic laws
Discern not clearly her appointed path.
Half hid in grass and its own broad bright leaves,
A Summer-flower is lingering e'en yet
Upon the moist hedge-bank—and timidly,
As if it marvelled at its own brave act,
Looks out from its close bower; a prized gem,
Now that its gayer rivals all are gone;
And lovingly we greet the Mallow-flower,
With its striped purple garb and humble mien.
