Some steady love; some brief delight; If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds Of hearts at leisure. Fresh smitten by the morning ray, And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Hath often eased my pensive breast And all day long I number yet, An instinct call it, a blind sense; Coming one knows not how, nor whence, Nor whither going. Child of the Year! that round dost run As lark or leveret, Thy long-lost praise1 thou shalt regain ; Than in old time;-thou not in vain TO THE SAME. BRIGHT flower, whose home is everywhere! And oft, the long year through, the heir Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through! And wherefore? Man is soon deprest; Or on his reason; But Thou would'st teach him how to find A shelter under every wind, A hope for times that are unkind And every season. 1 See, in Chaucer and the elder Poets, the honours formerly paid to this flower. TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.1 PANSIES, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies, They will have a place in story: 'Tis the little Celandine. Eyes of some men travel far For the finding of a star; Up and down the heavens they go, I'm as great as they, I trow, Since the day I found thee out, Little flower!—I'll make a stir, Modest, yet withal an Elf Bold, and lavish of thyself; Since we needs must first have met I have seen thee, high and low, 1 Common Pilewort. Ere a leaf is on a bush, In the time before the Thrush When we've little warmth, or none. Poets, vain men in their mood! Travel with the multitude: 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; Spring is coming, Thou art come ! Comfort have thou of thy merit, Ill befall the yellow Flowers, Prophet of delight and mirth, Of a joyous train ensuing, TO THE SAME FLOWER. PLEASURES newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet : February last, my heart First at sight of thee was glad ; 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, |