SONNET TO THE CAMELLA JAPONICA.

Say, what impels me, pure and spotless flower,

To view thee with a secret sympathy?

—Is there some living spirit shrined in thee?

That, as thou bloom'st within my humble bower,

Endows thee with some strange, mysterious

power,

Waking high thoughts?—As there perchance

might be

Some angel-form of truth and purity,

Whose hallowed presence shared my lonely hour?

—Yes, lovely flower, 'tis not thy virgin glow,

Thy petals whiter than descending snow,

Nor all the charms thy velvet folds display;

'Tis the soft image of some beaming mind,

By grace adorn'd, by elegance refin'd,

That o'er my heart thus holds its silent sway.

The Winter's Wreath.