He wrapped himself in sweet poetic thought.
He, to this day, is pleased to recollect
What few, who knew him then, would e'er suspect--
How much he loved to wander in the woods,
And watch the trees put forth their opening buds;
Or list the sound created by the wind,
Which sought a passage through the leaves to find.
He also loved, with wonder and delight,
To gaze on flowers bedecked with glory bright;
On polyanthus and auriculas,
In pleasing contrast with the ribbon-grass;
On wall-flower, too, with richest odor filled,
Like sweet frankincense daintily distilled;
On roses fair, in great variety
Of scent and color; and the peony,
Or scented violet, which scarce shows its head,
Yet does its odor o'er the garden shed;
On prince's feather, wearing stately plume,
With much of show, but nothing of perfume;
Loved tulips, lilies, pinks and gilliflowers,
With woodbines trained o'er lovely garden bowers,
That give forth sweetness and their charms display,
While, in rich robes, they stand in full array;
The foxglove, daisy, and demure monk's-hood,
With lilacs, and the scented southern wood;
The guelder-rose, with its fair, whited balls,
And creeping plants, high climbing up the walls,
These at all times our hero warmly loved,
And showed it, too, when he in gardens roved.
While, to himself, he had a patch of ground,