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Prophet of delight and mirth,
Of a joyous train ensuing,
Singing at my heart's command, In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!
TO THE SAME FLOWER.
Pleasures newly found are sweet
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,
Who the first with pointed rays,
Soon as gentle breezes bring
And the children build their bowers,
Sticking 'kerchief-plots of mold
All about with full-blown flowers, Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold! With the proudest Thou art there, Mantling in the tiny square.
Often have I sigh'd to measure
Thy bright coronet and Thee,
And thy arch and wily ways,
And thy store of other praise.
Blithe of heart, from week to week
Thou dost play at hide-and-seek;
While the patient Primrose sits
Like a Beggar in the cold,
Thou, a Flower of wiser wits,
Slipp'st into thy shelter'd hold;
Bright as any of the train
When ye all are out again.