THERE WE'7{E "PRINTED OF THIS EDITION FIFTY-FI'VE COPIES ON WHATMAN "PAPER, COLORED BY HAND. OF WHICH THIS IS SLUMBER 3' ^ Copyright lgo2, by Lena iMiller ^^r^ THE LUftAftY «F Two CoPifc# RtceivE» FEB. f4 290? 3V f] :q Pr Jflower poems WILLIAM WORDSWORTH WITH DESIGNS BY LONA MILLER tOh With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy I oft I tallt to thee For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming common^place Of Nature, with that homely face. And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee I Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising! And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame As is the humor of the game. While I am gazing. A nun demure, of lowly porti Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court. In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies dreslj A starveling in a scanty vest) Are all, as seems to suit thee best. Thy appellati .C^CU?>N LITTLE Cyclops, with one eye Staring to threaten and defy, That thought conies next'^and instantly The freak is overj The shape will vanish, and behold I A silver shield with boss of gold That spreads itself, some fairy bold In fight to cover, Ji-kL i^ SEE thee glittering from afar." And then thou art a pretty star. Not quite so fair as many are In heaven above thee I Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self'poised in air thou seem'st to restc May peace come never to his nest Who shall reprove thee I WEET Flower! for by that name at last When all my reveries are past 1 call thee, and to that cleave fast. Sweet silent Creature I That breath'st with me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek naturel 1/ '7^ '^QiPV^ cn ¥/ "^ To the Same Flower ^ \\r/J Bright Flower ! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal Nature's care, And all the long year through the heijr Of joy or sorrows Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanii Given to no other flower I The forest through Is it that Man is soon deprest? A thoughtless Thing I who once unblest, Does little on his memory rest, Or on his reason, And Thou would'st teach him how to find A shelter under every wind, A hope for times that are unkind And every season? Thou wander'st the wide world about Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt, With friends to greet thee, or without, Yet pleased and willing; Meek, yielding to the occasion's call. And all things suffering from all Thy function apostolical In peace fulfilling. That love which changed^/for wan disease, For sorrow that had bent O'er hopeless dust, for withered age" Their moral element, And turned the thistles of a curse To types beneficent. Sin.'blighted though we are, we too The reasoning Sons of Men, From one oblivious winter called Shall rise, and breathe again; And in eternal summer lose Our threescore years and ten. To humbleness of heart descends This prescience from on high, The faith that elevates the just, Before and when they diej And makes each soul a separate heaveni A court for Deity. /i h .^.^ -wv .v^^^jv/l Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend, Like an unbidden guest. Though day by dayt Storms, sallying from the mountain.