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40

XIV.

I will not praise the often-flatter'd rose,
Or, virgin like, with blushing charms half seen,
Or when in dazzling splendour like a queen,
All her magnificence of state she shows;
No, nor that nun-like lily, which but blows
Beneath the valley's cool and shady screen;
Nor yet the sun-flower that with warrior mien,
Still eyes the orb of glory where it glows;—
But thou, neglected wall-flower to my breast
And muse art dearest, wildest, sweetest flower,
To whom alone the privilege is given
Proudly to root thyself above the rest
As genius does, and, from thy rocky tower,
Lend fragrance to the purest breath of heaven.