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Flowers’—Well’—if anybody
Can the ecstasy define’—
Half a transport’—half a trouble’—
With which flowers humble men:
Anybody find the fountain
From which floods so contra flow’—
I will give him all the Daisies
Which upon the hillside blow.
 
Too much pathos in their faces
For a simple breast like mine’—
Butterflies from St. Domingo
Cruising round the purple line’—
Have a system of aesthetics’—
Far superior to mine.

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